


Umbrage

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [32]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: The Enterprise is tasked with investigating the status of the Romulan star and offering assistance before it goes nova.(This series is a rewrite of an AU series started in the early 1990s, this story was conceptualized long before ST:Picard was imagined, and any similarities to anything the franchise is doing is wholly coincidental.)
Relationships: Jean-Luc Picard/Deanna Troi
Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1222406
Comments: 18
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

_When you come, as you soon must, to the streets of our city,_   
_Mad-eyed from stating the obvious,_   
_Not proclaiming our fall but begging us_   
_In God's name to have self-pity_

Advice to a Prophet  
Richard Wilbur

* * *

Toreth paced through the rooms of the well-appointed suite on the flagship of the Federation fleet.

It was easy, when she was in the room with one of them. So easy to believe things that appeared to be true. Deanna was either genuine, or a master at appearing so -- she had not been entirely convincing when, long ago, she had attempted to be the Tal Shiar agent Rakal. Her occasional hesitation had set off suspicion for Toreth. Now, years later, having been through the exit from the Empire and living on Betazed among Deanna's people, she had to admit that it was more likely than not that Deanna was an honest, genuine and sympathetic person.

But there was still a shred of doubt, when Toreth was alone and contemplating her life. It had proven impossible to completely discard the innate, longstanding mistrust of Starfleet.

She paused in front of the replicator. The versions aboard her former warbird had only dispensed food, and not even a good variety of it. If there was one thing about the Federation that confirmed what she had been told, it was such hints of opulence. The luxuries aboard this vessel, and the others they had been on while in the Federation **,** told her that officers in Starfleet were not hardened warriors who pursued battle. Warriors and soldiers were not given such things.

Then there were the Betazoids. An entire planet of people who appeared to be pacifistic. They were obviously reeling from the invasion of their world that occurred during the Dominion War, but yet they took in Romulans. Picard and Troi had been open about the general opinion of many in the Federation about Romulans, yet they were allowed to live and move freely on a Federation member world. She supposed that it made sense -- the Federation would hardly send them anywhere but a world of telepaths who would be able to sense artifice. It certainly wouldn't work in the other direction. No one in the Romulan government would allow a group of any Federation species to live openly on Romulus.

Spies and revolutionaries, on the other hand, could linger until the Tal Shiar had ascertained the full extent of their reach into the populace. Toreth had no doubt that Federation spies were common enough; Romulus had planted agents in deep cover within the Federation for over a century, after all. The general mistrust between the Empire and the Federation continued even through the brief alliance during the Dominion War.

"Computer," she said, then paused to decide. "Stuffed oskoid, vinerine, and a glass of _lehr'jhe_."

The plate and a glass materialized. She picked up the beverage first, sniffed, then tasted. It wasn't terrible. Romulan wine was difficult to replicate, and Romulan replicators produced worse results. She carried her meal to the table and sat down to enjoy the unlikeliest combination she had ever experienced. It was symbolic in a way, that she found an appreciation of a Betazoid classic as well as her favorite Romulan dish.The two complimented each other quite well, or so her palate had decided.

For months, she had worked to aid the Betazoid recovery effort. Diwa and other Fourth House members had treated them very well indeed. On days off, she had gone to see the sights -- Janaran Falls, the Opal Sea, and others. Sometimes with Tarel, sometimes with Tyreen, and most of the time alone, she had observed the culture she lived in up close and seen nothing that made her feel foreign or unwelcome. The Betazoids were polite to a fault. She'd almost started to feel at home.

Now she was again on a Starfleet vessel, joining a mission that would return them to the Romulan Empire. Again, she felt odd -- dislocated, and anxious. Part of her had started to feel disloyal to the Empire, living on a world that did not instill in its people the deep fear and respect for its government. Part of her had begun to settle and accept. Now these internal parts of herself were at war.

She might yet see the threat of supernova defeated. She might yet have an opportunity, if the effort were successful and the Empire sufficiently appreciative, to find favor and return to her original home. But she would miss Betazed, if that were to happen.

And then with that thought -- the paranoid little voice that hated the Tal Shiar spoke up, sounding like Narviat in his career as an officer in the Tal Shiar when he was firmly indoctrinated and spoke in absolutes. _Once disloyal, forever traitor._

He'd changed his mind about that, obviously. He maintained now that loyalty could mean wanting their government to change for the better, for the benefit of their people. But Toreth knew there were some Tal Shiar left who would not agree with the repentant Narviat t'Aimne.

She finished her hybrid meal, and wiped her lips with the napkin. "Computer, time."

_The time is fourteen twenty-two._

Almost time to meet with the others. There was a scientist coming aboard with equipment, the latter was being beamed into a cargo bay as she ate. Deanna had invited the Romulans to Ten Forward to meet the woman who was volunteering to assist in the assessment of the ailing star, in order to save their world.

The least she could do would be to say thank you. In advance, while all was calm and there was time, just in case their arrival in the Empire was met with a fleet of warbirds. There might not be a chance later.


	2. Chapter 2

Dara stood on the platform for a few heartbeats, taking a breath. The matter stream transport used by Starfleet was disconcerting to her. She smiled at the woman standing in front of the transporter console to meet her. She took a step, held out her hand. "Hello."

"Dr. Dara, welcome aboard. I don't know if you remember me -- I'm Commander Deanna Troi."

They clasped hands, briefly. Dara glanced around -- the transporter room looked different. She remembered the name, Troi, but this woman appeared different, younger than the one her father had nearly left Kaelon forever to be with. The eyes were the same, however.

Troi gestured at the door, as she asked, and seemed startled. "If you'll come this way? I can show you to your quarters, and we're gathering in half an hour to introduce everyone."

Dara followed her from the room. In the corridor she found herself walking alongside the commander, who slowed her pace. She looked around as they walked, at the dark gray carpet, the shining black panels -- it had been a long time but she was certain the corridors were narrower.

"We're so grateful that you offered to come," Deanna said. "It will be so much easier to assess the situation, with your help."

"My government didn't want me to come. But your admiral mentioned your captain -- I remember what my father told me about him before he went through his Resolution. I know that you wouldn't be undertaking this project without good reason. My father would want to help you."

Deanna was silent until they reached the turbolift. They went in, and as they turned to face forward, their eyes met. "Computer, deck five. Your father was dedicated to his work. I have often wondered if your star was finally stabilized."

"We have managed to slow the progression of our sun to nova. Not stop it. I made the case that this endeavor might even help inform our work, that we're not afforded opportunities to study other dying stars and that this one has a shorter life span might help me understand later stages, so we can project what might happen with our own sun." Dara grieved again, thinking about her father, though it was a distant and old sort of sadness.

"I wish there had been time to know your father better," Deanna said, with just a hint of wistfulness. "My mother grieved his loss for a long time."

"She was your mother? I wondered about your name. How is she?"

"She's doing well, thank you." The lift stopped, and they left it. The suite they entered was only two doors down. Deanna gestured at the room vaguely. "I hope you find this suite comfortable. If you need anything, let me know."

"Things have changed, in the Federation, I hear." Dara could tell from the room -- she remembered more luxury, more color. This version of the _Enterprise_ had a darker theme.

"Kaelon wasn't a target in the Dominion War, which was very fortunate for your people. They invaded Betazed." Deanna seemed sad as she said it.

"Your home," Dara murmured, remembering. She studied the other woman for a moment. "You likely don't know... after your mother attended my father's Resolution, some of my family spoke to her at some length about your world, about her life. It was enlightening. We on Kaelon have had dealings with other species, from time to time. We know that we are not like others in many ways. But she talked about living for decades -- that she was already older than my father, that she was looking forward to the rest of her long life. It was shocking to us. And then she asked about our natural life span. She talked about human life spans, how much longer they are now than they once were." Deanna's smile seemed to be fading, as Dara spoke. She paused, concerned. When Deanna didn't comment she went on. "We realized we didn't remember how long our life span would be without the Resolution. That led some of us to ask more questions."

"There are many variations in life spans, from species to species," Deanna said. "I remember wondering how your Resolution came to be a tradition."

"Our people are wrestling with allowing the choice of continuing to adhere to old tradition, or letting people live out their natural life span," Dara said. Thinking of her father, she winced.

"Do you wish that had been allowed while your father was alive?"

"It caused me pain, to think that I pushed him so hard to come home," Dara said, tears starting in the corners of her eyes. "I have been working for years to find a way to save our world. And now there is an effort to build ships, and find another planet to colonize. Start to move our population -- it will take years. For generations we were determined to find a solution and stay, but now it's changed. Minds are changing -- and I'm changing as well, whether I wanted to or not."

Deanna seemed to mirror Dara's feelings in her expression. She took a step, touched Dara's sleeve, and said, "I know how it feels. Betazed has been changing as well. Drastic changes can be a difficult adjustment -- my people were never fighters. We never expected or wanted to be in a war."

"If Father had gone with your mother, he might still be alive. And you might call me sister."

Deanna smiled merrily at that. "I think I would have enjoyed that. But, it's a futile game, imagining what might have been. We can get to know each other on this endeavor -- we'll have some idle time, traveling, and I would hope that you and the others won't be working nonstop throughout."

"The admiral mentioned the Vissians -- what are they like?" Dara wondered how different it would have been, had Kaelon joined the Federation as some of the government had suggested. Too many Kaelons were afraid of other species. She'd been shocked that her father had been allowed to request help from Starfleet. A measure of how much desperation they felt.

"We haven't picked them up yet, and while I've heard about them I have never met one. We're to rendezvous with them tomorrow. Would you like to come with me to Ten Forward to meet the captain and the others?"

Dara nodded. "Perhaps you could tell me about the Romulans, then? All I know are vague rumors."

"I can introduce you to five of them, in fact. They should be waiting for us."

As she left the suite, Dara thought about her father, as she had done since she'd volunteered for this. He would be proud of her, she was certain.


	3. Chapter 3

Deanna lingered in the small restroom down the corridor from Ten Forward and leaned on the sink after washing her hands, studying her reflection in the mirror. Her stomach couldn't decide what it liked less -- Bularian canapes, or Antarean pasta with copious amounts of cheese.

"I should fire the cook, Yves," she said quietly. A variety of Federation foods was appropriate for such an occasion as this. But whoever had chosen the specific dishes might have included something she could stomach while pregnant. She decided that if there were another event such as this, she would be sure to have very specific foods available for herself.

Her hair was coming loose from her careful braids. Frizzy flyaways, long strands hanging down, and damn it all, _her makeup smeared._ She'd dabbed a little gold in the creases above the pale red eye shadow that complimented her uniform. Now there was a smudge from the corner of her right eye, downward along her cheek. She rubbed the smear away with a fingertip as best she could. Standing back, she took a deep breath and tried not to cry. 

So far, the hormonal ups and downs were not intense or sustained, at least. She thought she was doing a moderately good job of keeping it together. She steadied herself and left the restroom. Before she could reach the door to Ten Forward, it opened and the captain came out. He approached her at his usual sedate pace. They met halfway, and stood just a couple of feet from each other. 

Jean-Luc smiled with the formality of the captain, but she of course sensed his concern. "Tarel wanted me to check on you."

"Of course. You never would have checked on me otherwise," she said with the smirk that told him she knew better.

"The party is winding down, you know. No need to dance any more. It's late, and our guests are all understanding."

Deanna pressed her lips together briefly. "You've already told them you're taking me back to quarters, haven't you?" she said.

Hands held out wide, he shrugged sheepishly, and just like that the captain was her husband. "There may have been words to that effect."

She turned around, and he came alongside, walking with her to the lift. Hovering, as he hadn't done during the reception. She was indeed tired. "I think it went well tonight. Dara explaining her theory about what might be possible helped Narviat and M'Ret feel a little more confident in this endeavor."

She didn't say anything about Toreth, because she hadn't; the former commander of a Romulan warbird had been vacillating emotionally since she had joined them, fleeing the Romulan Empire at the end of an intelligence mission gone awry. Just days ago, on Betazed, she had sensed that Toreth was mostly settled yet continued to have moments of doubt. Particularly after the revelation that Narviat had informed Jean-Luc and Deanna of the crisis of the Romulan sun.

"I think Toreth is doubting more than the others," Jean-Luc muttered as the lift doors closed behind them. "Deck eight."

"What gives you that impression?"

Jean-Luc had a familiar expression -- on missions where they were knowingly journeying into uncertainty, he would have this tight-lipped, eyebrow-raised, tired look that said he was enduring the situation despite knowing how badly it could go. "She's quieter than she was, when we were socializing on Betazed. And you think loudly at times."

The lift opened, and she walked with him to their quarters. "You can hear me thinking without my help, now?"

He smirked, putting a hand on her shoulder while they entered the bedroom. "Possibly I've gotten that good at reading your facial expression while you're talking to others. I'll let you decide which is more likely."

"I -- " Her stomach lurched, and she ran. She nearly made it to the basin in the bathroom; as the nausea pushed her dinner up, she sank to her knee and coughed.

Jean-Luc was there in an instant, kneeling beside her and holding her shoulders, smoothing her hair back. He helped her to her feet when it appeared to be over, stood there and let her lean on him.

"I should get something to clean it up," she said, though her stomach threatened to try again at the thought.

"Come on," he said, guiding her out to the bedroom with a hand on her shoulder. "You should get comfortable."

He went back out to the living room and returned with a glass of water and a towel, and gave her the glass then vanished into the bathroom. Deanna sat on the bed, put the glass on her night table, and started removing her uniform at her boots. She had the boots, socks and jacket off by the time he returned.

"You didn't have to do that," she said.

"I'm told by various parents of my acquaintance that one should anticipate quite a bit of cleanup duty. And my innate sense of fairness suggests that since you're the one suffering the symptoms and eventually giving birth, I should do what little I can to help with the process." He went to his side of the bed and started the same ritual of undress, tossing his boots aside one at a time.

"I can't even say this is bad. There are mothers who have much more difficulty. I think that's the first time I've felt nausea in three days, and I can't say that it was being pregnant that caused it -- the canapes did not settle well. Far too rich." She drank some of the water, hoping the flips and flops in her belly would stop.

"Should we go to sickbay?"

She looked back at him over her shoulder, twisting a little, and saw that he was doing the same. She smiled at her sweet husband, for his anxiety on her behalf. "It's better. It's settling now." Setting the glass on the table, she drew her shirt up over her head and set it aside with the jacket on the bed, unhooked the brassiere, and stood up to drop her pants. Then noticed he continued to watch her. Slowly, she pushed them downward and swayed her hips suggestively, taking her underwear with them.

"Cygne," he warned.

"I am fine, honestly. Though I suppose it's a bit optimistic of me, after the floor show." Deanna picked up the covers and slid into them, leaving the pieces of her uniform scattered about. Raising her arms, she started to remove pins from her hair.

Jean-Luc, down to his briefs, joined her and slid close to work his fingers into her hair, loosening braids and plucking the pins out as well. "This is an interesting way to get ready for bed. Usually you wash your face."

"I'll take a shower in a minute. After my stomach is completely calm. I'm afraid to go in, if there's any odor left it will upset it again."

"I lit one of the candles after I mopped up the mess. It should be fine now."

When she came back from a sonic shower, makeup-free and brushing her hair out, he was reading; he looked up as she entered and smiled, setting the book aside. "Better?"

"Much. Thank you." Deanna hesitated, looking down at him waiting for her in bed. After a year and a half, she was still at times finding herself caught in moments of disbelief, that she was here, now, with him. He reached out to lift up the covers, and she slid in with him again, dropping her hair brush on the table next to the glass.

"I love you," he murmured, as they spooned together and his arm pulled her in close against him.

"I love you, Jean." Deanna smiled and forgot about the mission, as she closed her eyes. At least she would have this comfort at night, until there were red alerts and crises to disrupt their schedule.


	4. Chapter 4

When the transporter effect ended, a single man in long white robes edged with green stood on the pad. He smiled, stepping down and holding out a hand. "Captain Picard."

"Welcome aboard," Jean-Luc said, shaking the offered hand. "This is my first officer, Commander Troi. Thank you for coming."

"It's an opportunity I couldn't turn down. We've never encountered an artificially-induced supernova," the man said. His smile warmed considerably as he gazed at Deanna. "I am Reylar -- heliophysics is my career, my life work. I have been traveling all across the Federation, since Vissia joined, studying the suns of many worlds. But there is still so much to see. Thank you for this opportunity, to work with Starfleet."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reylar," Deanna said coolly. "We very much appreciate your willingness to participate." They had made it clear the risk to all who volunteered; going into the Romulan Empire, even aboard a well-armed Sovereign class vessel, was dangerous.

"Just Reylar, no need for formalities as you call them," the young man said. "We Vissians are not given to affectations."

Jean-Luc smiled with the forced and determined diplomatic politeness honed by years of practice and gestured with a hand toward the door. "We'll show you to your accommodations, and then we can provide you with a tour and introduce you to the others who will be along for our mission -- the Kaelon scientist is already aboard. After your equipment has been safely stowed in the shuttle bay, we will be under way."

As they escorted Reylar to one of the diplomatic suites, Jean-Luc noted that Deanna stayed behind him, silently attending. Yet Reylar turned back as he walked to look at her, and said, "You are Betazoid, are you not?"

"I am." Her tone was not warm and inviting as was her norm, even in diplomacy. Jean-Luc approved -- and said nothing, walked staidly toward the turbolift with Reylar at his side, trying to wrestle down the unsettling level of hostility he felt at just this low level of interest that another man had in her. It was nothing, he told himself. Other people would _of course_ find her attractive, and express it. He knew he had no reason to think she would respond in kind. But the unease he felt didn't listen to him.

"When Vissia became a member of the Federation we began to take an interest in the other member worlds. Betazed was one of a few that seemed to have cultural practices similar to ours. Of course, you are two-gendered -- but your people appear to have similar sexual mores, and to be more open-minded than other species. I have hopes that this mission will conclude successfully and I will be able to visit your world. So I hope that you do not mind if I ask if you would be willing to talk to me about Betazed, if there is an opportunity?"

Two-gendered? Jean-Luc glanced sidelong at the man, then refocused forward as the door opened and they entered, turning to face the front of the lift. "Deck five, section four," he said to the computer. "Betazed is a lovely world. Well worth visiting."

"There is much variety in the attitudes of Betazoids in the matter of sexuality. A great number of us who embark upon intimate relationships with individuals of other species adapt to the preferences of their partner, as I have. Our focus is on determining what makes the other person happy, rather than on what we gain from the relationship -- the happiness of the other is then the happiness of the individual," Deanna explained in a clinical tone. While she spoke Jean-Luc could feel her attention more on him; the bond could be this way, sometimes, he'd noticed. The undercurrent of emotion between them seemed so much stronger now that she was pregnant. It nicely distracted him from his ire at Reylar, who didn't deserve it.

And, she'd informed the man in the most efficient manner that she was already attached. Reylar's voice held less interest than before as he responded. "That's good to know. Though I am also curious about more transitory, less committed relationships."

The door opened, and they strode down the corridor to the sixth door on the right. Deanna had arranged for all guests to be on this deck, in different sections. Giving them all space, in the quarters intended for passengers and dignitaries that the flagship might need to transport, had not been difficult even though the previous _Enterprise_ had had more luxurious accommodations.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to contact the bridge," Jean-Luc said as he entered the suite first. He saw that the decor had been altered from standard issue; more flowers and a few paintings on the wall, to brighten the space. There were a few unfamiliar items that he assumed were the style of furnishings Deanna had mentioned were typical aboard Vissian vessels, a detail she hoped would help their guest feel more at home.

"Very nice -- I am surprised and grateful for your attention to detail," Reylar exclaimed. His grin as he gestured with both hands around the room proved what Jean-Luc had been told, that Vissians were demonstrative and open people.

Deanna had halted just far enough into the room to let the door close behind her, her hands behind her back. "There are traditional Vissian foods programmed into our replicator, and you are welcome to try any of the thousands of other recipes from all of the member worlds of the Federation. I've asked the medical staff to review and block any that contain substances that are incompatible with your species."

"You are free to move around the ship -- I've asked our second officer, Mr. Carlisle, to come by to introduce himself and offer you a tour, as many areas are off limits to unaccompanied guests. We'll let you settle in. Your bags have been beamed directly in." Jean-Luc gestured at a few bags and cases sitting in a corner.

"The stratopod is in the main shuttle bay? Is that area also restricted? I would like to spend some of our time in transit preparing it for the task at hand."

"Of course, you will be able to access it any time you like," Deanna said. "And if you need any assistance our engineering department has been instructed to provide any tools or assistants whenever you need them. I know Commander LaForge is very interested and would like to see it. As would our Kaelon visitor, Dara."

"One of us will be here later today, to see that you are comfortable," Jean-Luc said, starting to turn for the door. "We'll leave you to settle in. I need to be on the bridge -- we'll be under way shortly."

"Thank you, Captain," Reylar said. "And you, Commander. I'm sure I'll be quite comfortable here."

Deanna followed Jean-Luc from the room, and onward to the lift. Once inside and riding upward toward the bridge, she chuckled softly.

"Yes, I'm just another ridiculous human male," he said, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

"You're many things -- 'ridiculous' is not one. He was very interested in me. But he's likely to shift that interest elsewhere now -- he's one of those interspecies sex tourists, we call them _necdovan,_ not such an uncommon thing for Betazed thanks to our reputation for open sexual expression. I suspect he might express similar interest in our other guests, now that I made it plain that I do not adhere to stereotype."

"Let's hope then that he is professional enough to not allow it to interfere with the mission."

Deanna let him exit onto the bridge first, and Carlisle stood up from the captain's chair as they arrived in the center of the bridge. "Sir, we've had a request from the starbase -- an officer wanting to board. Someone with the JAG who needs transport to Starbase 431."

That was along their course to the Neutral Zone, and Jean-Luc could see why the request had been made; it wasn't a starbase in a region that saw a lot of Starfleet traffic. If an officer of the Judge Advocate General's office was trying to go there it was likely a case of some urgency. "If they can come aboard within the next fifteen minutes, permission granted. Greenman, departure in twenty minutes -- best possible speed to Starbase 431, and if we don't have a guest after all, put us back on course for Romulus."

"Aye, sir," Natalia replied crisply without looking back at them.

"I'll be in my ready room. Commander, please see to our guest, if he boards?" 

"Yes, sir," Deanna responded even as he was in motion for his door. 

Once inside, he took a moment to refocus. The distraction of being so defensive of his wife had hopefully been resolved. "Computer, do I have any messages from Starfleet Command?" he asked as he went to his desk. 

_No messages._

Small favors sometimes occurred. He huffed, straightening his jacket and taking a seat. "I want to see a list of new messages."

The headers sprang up -- the newest of them at the top. Raising an eyebrow, he realized who the unexpected passenger had to be.

Well. Too late now.

"Sorry, Cygne," he said with a sigh. "At least it isn't your mother...."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phillipa is from TNG episode "Measure of a Man"

Deanna left the bridge to Carlisle, after calculating that it would take half a day to reach the next starbase -- the officer they would be transporting wouldn't need quarters, just a chair in Ten Forward. As a courtesy she went down to transporter room two to greet the captain. With a smile at deOrda, the L'norim at the console, she came to attention -- her timing was good and the officer already materializing in front of her.

The middle-aged woman was in uniform and had a case dangling from a strap over her shoulder. She stepped down, smiling pleasantly. "Commander. Captain Louvois, of the Judge Advocate's office."

"Captain. Welcome aboard. I'm Commander Troi." They went together out of the room, and on the way to the turbolift, she explained, "Since it will only take five and a half hours to reach the starbase, I welcome you to take advantage of our lounge, the holodecks, or the gymnasium. If you would like to sleep or relax in private we can give you quarters."

"Actually, I was hoping to see the captain. He's an old friend of mine."

Deanna hesitated, sensing some interesting emotions beneath the cool exterior. Anticipation, of a particular kind. "That shouldn't be a problem. He's in his ready room."

"I suppose Commander Riker must have been given a promotion?" 

They entered the lift. Deanna waited for the door to close, and said, "Bridge. Yes. He's in command of the _Lexington_. Did you know him as well?"

"I met him, when I was aboard for the trial that determined the status of the android -- Commander Data is still an officer, I hope?"

"He's the first officer aboard the _Venture_." Deanna thought about the situation a little more, and wondered if she shouldn't hint that the captain wouldn't get anywhere with Jean-Luc.

But, she was on duty, and that would be interfering in personal matters. She decided to adhere to their agreement. When elephants -- old lovers from the past -- came along, it would be handled by the ex of the moment. 

When they reached the bridge, Deanna walked the captain to the ready room door. When they were admitted, she went in, came to attention in front of the desk, and didn't meet his eyes as she announced, "Captain Louvois would like to speak to you, sir."

He stood up as Louvois came alongside and stood with Deanna. "Phillipa," he said.

"Don't sound so excited to see me," she chided, with the sort of bonhomie that said she'd expected a much warmer reception and fully anticipated that it _didn't_ mean the obvious. 

"Thank you, Commander, that will be all," he said. It was amazing how normal he sounded. Deanna could tell he wasn't happy with this. 

She returned to the bridge and took Carlisle's place, sending him to ops to displace the lieutenant there. Ward glanced over his shoulder after checking his board. "Everything all right?"

Something must show in her face -- she gave him a tight smile. "Just pre-mission tension. Helm, status?"

"We are on coarse for the next starbase at warp seven, sir."

"Excellent. Steady as she goes."


	6. Chapter 6

Phillipa hadn't changed much -- a few gray hairs, a few more lines around the eyes. Jean-Luc could see his subdued reaction was confusing her. "Would you like some tea?"

"Sure." Her enthusiasm had waned somewhat with a lack of his in return. She sidestepped to her right and sat down in one of the chairs facing his desk. "I bet you're wondering how I got here."

"I would assume some errant starship captain got tired of you and left you at the starbase?" More likely, the ship she'd been on had been called away on some crisis somewhere else in the quadrant. He went to the replicator and returned with two cups of Earl Grey. "Are you transferring to a remote sector for a break?"

"There's an issue out there that I have to go deal with. I'll be back home afterward." Which meant she couldn't talk about it. "What about you? How'd you end up on a heading through that remote sector?"

"Something to do with someone, out there somewhere." Jean-Luc handed her one and went around the end of the desk with his. As he sat down, he noticed she was staring dubiously. Perhaps suspicious. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied. Raising a hand, she pointed at his, as he raised his own cup. "That's a ring, isn't it?"

He glanced at his hand automatically. "Yes, it was given to me at my wedding."

Phillipa started to laugh. It was a bit startling, but she seemed to genuinely think it was really a joke. When he didn't join her, merely sipped Earl Grey, she subsided and settled into staring some more. "Really?"

"I see you do not believe me. Would you like to meet her?"

She cocked her head right and gave him that familiar lopsided smile. "Well, isn't this just a kick in the pants? The first time I manage to come back aboard in years and you had to go get married! Of all things -- you told me once you were _allergic_ to it!"

He shrugged, exaggerating the gesture with arms held high, hands open. "Guess I was wrong."

"You _really are_ \-- this isn't some colossal joke?"

For an answer, he reached over to pluck the small framed copy of one of the wedding pictures from the corner of the desk nearest him -- the one with just the two of them, beaming happily and not a care in the world. He gazed at the bride's joyful smile and then flipped it around, placing it on the desk next to her tea cup. She leaned in to gape at the faces in the picture.

"But that's -- " She sat up, half-turning to point at the door behind her. "The commander?"

"It is."

"Do the _admirals_ know?" Her laugh was now staccato, nervous and still somewhat disbelieving.

"Of course. We're picking up Admiral Tessora shortly. The _Scheherazade_ is en route at warp to meet us. In fact, we should be dropping out of warp at any time to receive her."

Phillipa picked up the picture, and studied it more closely. It seemed to be sinking in at last. "A Betazoid," she murmured. Her gray eyes swept up to meet his. "You married a _Betazoid._ "

"I'm beginning to be a little concerned that you're ill -- should I take you to sickbay?"

She laughed again, shaking her head and putting the frame on the desk. She waved her finger at him, sitting back and crossing her legs. Something occurred to her that made her gape briefly. "Is she...."

He sipped his tea and waited for the rest of the sentence, trying not to fill in the blank.

Finally, Phillipa picked up her tea. "Betazoid makes sense if she's like they say they are," she said with a grin. "I don't suppose she might be interested...."

Jean-Luc took more tea and held it in his mouth, swallowed, thought about Deanna, and set aside the cup. He returned the picture to its spot, turning it back around. The monitor, which still showed the headers of all his messages, shifted; two more were added at the top of the list. He touched the one with Nechayev's name on it. The three lines of text resulted in an uptick of his anxiety, which led to the annunciator sounding off.

"Come in," he called out, and Deanna returned, stopping behind the second chair rather than sitting next to Phillipa. Who was staring at him again -- perhaps it looked like he had touched something and summoned her. 

Deanna turned to their guest expectantly, but nothing was forthcoming. Phillipa was now blushing and not really looking at either of them. Dark Betazoid eyes flicked to his face, and he wondered if it could possibly become less ridiculous. He held up his right hand to show off the ring. Deanna mirrored the gesture, looking again at Phillipa, and dropped her arm again.

"Sorry," Phillipa said.

"I didn't anticipate seeing you again," Jean-Luc said. "And I suppose I expected that since we're not a secret, you might already know about it."

"I should go," Deanna said. "My apology for the intrusion."

"No, no," Phillipa said, rising and holding up her hands palms out as if giving up. "Is it too late to take you up on the offer of quarters?"

"Not at all." Deanna smiled pleasantly. "Deck seven, section four, cabin two is available and at your disposal."

"Thank you for the tea, Captain," Phillipa said with more composure than she'd had just moments before. She left the ready room sedately.

"That appeared to go well?" Deanna pulled out the chair and sat at last. "Why were you so anxious?"

"It went as well as it could. But the anxiety was about a message I just received -- Admiral Caldwell is on the same ship as Tessora, on his way to join us."

"I see. So it wasn't because you were talking to one of your elephants."

"Phillipa said something that gave it away," he guessed.

"She felt something, and you felt something when she came in. It seemed to go well enough to a point. And while I didn't meet her the last time she came aboard, I did put together a few things -- I managed to remember a counseling session after the trial to keep Bruce Maddox from taking Data away from us, in which you mentioned her. Is _all_ of your anxiety about the admiral? I don't see why another admiral, particularly Caldwell, would be so alarming."

"I suspect, after she commented upon your being Betazoid, that she _might_ have been trying to decide whether or not to ask if you were interested in a threesome." And the thought of it generated mixed feelings, for him.

Deanna blinked in surprise and watched him silently while he decided that wasn't even a possibility.

"Don't worry. I'm far too old to consider it."

She didn't laugh out loud at least. But the dimple in her right cheek appeared. "I've reconsidered -- 'ridiculous' is back on the table. You _did_ consider it and you rejected it. Because you know she's not my type?"

"I do?" He frowned. "She isn't?" It was difficult to maintain the straight face.

"Silly fish," she exclaimed, rising to her feet and turning to go. "Thank you for letting me know we have two admirals to house. I'll get the quartermaster to dress out the remaining diplomatic suite for Caldwell and make sure we're ready when they come aboard."

"Deanna."

She stopped and stood gazing at him at the summons. "Captain," she said firmly. That was a warning not to allow the personal to interrupt her.

"Come back and talk to me when it's done."

"If there's time." She came to attention then, and waited.

"You are dismissed, Commander," he said, wearily returning to duty. After she was gone, he asked the computer for information about Admiral Caldwell, hoping to discover what led to his inclusion in this effort.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vissians were depicted in Enterprise, episode 22 of season 2 - Cogenitor. They are very straightforward indeed about wanting to have sexual relations with someone.

Assigning the quartermaster to the task of preparing yet another suite for yet another admiral was a matter of using her communicator, and the bridge remained quiet. Deanna had deLio check on the ETA of the _Scheherazade_ and decided to take a break farther from her very serious, still-anxious husband who was having difficulty. She went to her office, to run a quick search in Starfleet records, then picked up a padd and headed for Ten Forward.

Working so closely with Will for so long had given her ample opportunity to observe all the little things he did that helped him succeed in managing the crew. He probably hadn't been aware of some things, himself; he'd told her at one point that he preferred to manage from Ten Forward because he found his office claustrophobic. But she thought it also helped that he was out in spaces that crew felt comfortable in, so they would approach him more openly. She used the office more when she had tasks that required all her focus, but for simple things such as report review or crew schedules and approvals, she took a padd down to sit in front of the viewports and be interruptible. There was a notable difference in crew contacts in one environment versus the other. Given the mission at hand, tensions would be higher than usual.

When she entered the lounge, she saw at once that Louvois had not gone to quarters after all. She was seated facing away from the door, in the spot Deanna often sat herself, more or less centered along that side of the room. Deanna went to the bar to get a tall glass of ebi'lan tea and turned to survey the room again, to choose a spot not inhabited by the random crew scattered throughout. She saw that Louvois had noticed her and was watching, and waved to her as she looked around.

Oh, well. In for a penny. Deanna wove through the tables, and as she reached the table, Louvois gestured at the chair across from her. "Hello again."

"Hello, Captain. What can I do for you?" Deanna sat down, set the padd and her tea aside.

Louvois gave her a wincing smile. "I wanted to talk a bit, if you're able?"

"At the moment, I have only a few reports to review. What would you like to discuss?"

"I want to apologize, for the awkwardness. I didn't show up just to see him, you know. I thought it would be a nice fringe benefit, true. But I didn't know he was married."

Deanna let her arms rest comfortably in her lap, and found herself settling into 'counselor' mode, which was often still very useful. Being neutral and calm was a good tactic for situations like this. "I can see why you would think he might be interested."

Louvois lost some of the nervousness, and her expression became more composed while her feelings shifted to curiosity, a little wariness, and then a decision was made. "I was shocked -- I wouldn't have expected him to marry a Betazoid, if he married anyone."

"I don't believe I'm a typical Betazoid, any more than he is a typical human."

That observation put a crease in Phillipa's brow. "That would follow. I had thought that maybe...." She didn't finish the sentence, but her emotions were doing it for her.

"You thought that I am stereotypical, an open book so to speak, sensual and very willing to engage with anyone. There are not so many Betazoids like that as other species think. In fact, a great majority of us don't bother to speak aloud most of the time. The Betazoids that other species encounter are self-selecting, of course, very willing and curious to explore what other people have to offer. So I can see how you would come to that conclusion, that I might be interested in joining you if he were at all interested in another sexual experience with you."

Deanna rarely found her mother's usual blunt manner helpful. Mother enjoyed shocking humans; so many of them were walking dichotomies and she liked to think she could enlighten them to their own blind spots. Deanna thought that was not unlike the psychologist's goals with clients, though very different in execution. Not that she would ever confess it to anyone.

Louvois settled back in the chair. It took her seconds to recover from shock. "I'm beginning to see how being with you works for him, now."

"You were the prosecution," Deanna said, rocking her back yet again with shock. "You betrayed his trust. It's in the records of the court-martial after the loss of the _Stargazer_. The last time you saw him, after Data's trial, he decided not to indulge in sexual intercourse. So it brings me to the question of why you thought he would this time."

The woman was brazen; she laughed, but it covered some of the shock as well as giving the impression that she was unflappable. Probably part of why she was so successful in court. "So that emergency he had to rush off to handle was just his way of gracefully exiting -- that man. He could have simply told me he didn't want sex."

"I thought it was generally that humans prefer to let the other person down easy? If there is some positive attachment to the other person that seems to be the preference. Or, very probably, there was actually an emergency." Or, as he had mentioned in counseling, he had been on his guard with her. Which led Deanna to now question the woman's general trustworthiness. Louvois had ruled in favor of Data's autonomy; Jean-Luc had considered her to be impartial, had invited her help with the matter, so his opinion of her professional self was good. But he didn't entirely trust her personally, apparently with good reason.

"Are you?" 

Deanna tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Am I what?"

"Interested in anything?" Louvois' tone turned suggestive.

A slow blink was enough effort to prevent Deanna's face from revealing her surprise. She smiled out of amusement, in defense, picked up her ebi'lan and sipped -- the sweet, cool, slightly-syrupy beverage took a little effort to drink. She could tell the other woman wasn't particularly attracted to her, and suspected it was Phillipa's reaction to perceived rejection. She was competitive and aggressive. More, even, than Vash. And possibly she might be more dangerous than Vash, as a JAG officer.

"I am not," Deanna said after a moment -- matter of fact, carefully neutral, and punctuated with a slight apologetic shrug. "Not now, anyway. There is very little time, we'll be dropping you at the starbase within the next two hours."

"Ah," Phillipa said, her eyes widening slightly. "So... you would need _more than two hours_."

"I would," Deanna said, taking another tip from Will Riker's playbook. _Even if you could be seen as arrogant, never downplay your skill as a lover._

Phillipa laughed again, this time in genuine amusement. "I may have to take some vacation time on Betazed."

"If you do, I recommend the Paradise Palace. Horribly cheesy name, but it's the best resort on the shores of the Opal Sea. There are some very accommodating people there who cater to the more sensual sort of tourism."

"Commander?"

Both of their heads turned -- the Vissian, Reylar, had approached. He held his hands clasped in front of him and was smiling down at her. The crescent-shaped ridges around the eyes were a little distracting at first. "I'm so sorry, I was about to sit down here," he gestured at a table about eight feet from them, "but I heard you say that this... resort? That it is specifically...."

"Yes. The staff are trained in the art of physical pleasure," Deanna said. "And being telepathic helps them provide whatever your libido desires." Deanna glanced at Phillipa, who was taking this in with increasing incredulity. "Reylar, this is Captain Phillipa Louvois -- we will be dropping her off at the next starbase. Reylar is an astrophysicist -- he's here to help us with our _classified_ mission," Deanna added, turning back to nod and smile at the man.

"Yes," he replied, affirming that he understood. But he returned to the original topic with zeal that suggested he wasn't likely to stray to discussion of the mission anyway. Taking a step forward, he said, "Are there other resorts like this one on Betazed?"

"Several. And I know of others -- Casperia has one, Risan resorts are famous for the indulgence of sensual pleasures."

"There are facilities on Wrigley's Pleasure Planet as well," Phillipa said unexpectedly.

Deanna noted the Vissian's interest shift, as he looked at Phillipa more closely. The next step in their direction took him closer to her. "You are... also interested in such things," he murmured, obviously aware that some humans were sensitive to such topics.

"There are many humans who are -- have you ever had sex with a human?" Deanna asked, stepping in when Phillipa hesitated to answer.

Phillipa guffawed, shocked, but Reylar grinned and even clapped his hands once. "No! Starfleet is so overwhelmingly human, I had expected an opportunity with all the many joint missions we have had with Starfleet, but I have had no success. Perhaps there are cues that I am missing, some gesture or other indication of interest that I am not able to interpret?"

"I would guess that's because Starfleet officers are expected to avoid sexual misunderstandings with other species. Many of them do so by avoiding all discussion of sexuality, especially when on duty. If you were to visit one of the resorts we were discussing, you would find it easier to explore the subject."

Reylar nodded thoughtfully. "Have you ever had sex with a human? Do you understand their social cues? And would you be willing to help me start to understand?"

Deanna gestured at the nearest empty chair. "Bring one over and have a seat."

"You're giving him lessons?" Phillipa asked, watching the eager Vissian grab a chair and bring it over to sit with them.

"I've helped various species understand one another," Deanna replied. She took another sip of her tea as Reylar settled in his seat. "Would you like to help?"

Phillipa raised an eyebrow and her smile turned into a wicked grin. Her tone was one of innocence, however. "How will I do that?"

"So humans often invite each other to go out for a meal, or just to sit down for a beverage of choice together, as a way of initiating a relationship. Whether it is a friendship, or any other kind of relationship, they are sometimes uncertain. The discussion during the first meeting sometimes gives them a good indication of the potential the relationship has," Deanna said, lecturing now. She gestured at Phillipa. "The conversation can include nonverbal cues, and at times tonal cues -- you are familiar with the operation of tone of voice in Standard?"

"Yes. But only generally. The tutorials include nothing about sexuality or how to initiate coitus."

It was really too bad her mother wasn't there, Deanna thought. This would be a perfect opportunity for her. Deanna held up a finger, and cleared her throat. "So... Phillipa. Are you in Starfleet?"

The abrupt shift in tone from polite and formal to warm, almost seductive, startled and delighted the captain. "Yes," she replied with a corresponding change in facial expression and tone. "I'm in the Judge Advocate General's office."

"That sounds like challenging work," Deanna replied invitingly, inclining her head and looking directly into her eyes.

"I appreciate a challenge," Phillipa exclaimed, her voice dropping in timbre.

"Oh -- I see," Reylar exclaimed with an excited hand clap. "Yes, yes. The _eye contact_ \-- and the tone of voice definitely sounds different. Tell me, this is the first meeting, the first step? How many interactions are there between initial contact and coitus?"

Deanna swallowed a laugh at his questions. "That is entirely up to the people involved. This was an accelerated version -- some individuals progress very slowly to this, others might simply exchange a few compliments and go to a more private setting to engage in physical contact of varying degrees, including coitus. Starfleet officers do eventually find their way into relationships."

Reylar reached over to point at her right hand, which held her glass of tea. "It has been explained to me before that this jewelry indicates you are paired already. I did not notice it before. I apologize for the misunderstanding."

"I did not take offense. It's a common occurrence for us, and many consider it flattering to make the offer despite knowing it will be rejected, as well. You know... this is something you would learn much more quickly with practice. Perhaps Captain Louvois would help you in her remaining time with us -- she will be dropped off soon, as I said. I should return to the bridge." She glanced at the stars to her right; the ship dropped out of warp abruptly, the stars suddenly stationary again. Another vessel, a Defiant class, was idling at impulse in front of the _Enterprise_.

She'd sensed Jean-Luc in the back of her mind, coming to attention as he must have been informed that the _Scheherazade_ had initiated the rendezvous as planned. "If you will excuse me, I have admirals to greet."

She felt Phillipa's eyes on her as she left the table with her padd, and as she fled Ten Forward she started to grin. She laughed in the turbolift, and arrived in transporter room one as her commbadge chirped.

"Picard to Troi. Please meet Admiral Tessora and Admiral Caldwell in transporter room one."

She smiled at deOrda. "Yes, sir. Will you be joining me?"

"I am on my way. Picard out."

"Will we be piping the admirals aboard?" deOrda asked. His voice wasn't as high-pitched as deLio's, but had the same vibrato and reedy quality.

"I don't believe so. I would have been informed."

The captain arrived just moments later, and came to attention at her right, their sleeves brushing together. He gave her a look and she sensed questioning, even if she couldn't interpret the subdued expression of interest after years of practice.

"All's as well as it could be."

He didn't have time to respond. deOrda announced their guests were ready for transport, and Jean-Luc gave the nod. Tessora was the same as Deanna remembered; Caldwell was new to her. He was bald, dark-skinned and had a neatly-trimmed mustache. His rich brown eyes rested briefly on her before focusing on Jean-Luc, standing at attention. Deanna waited to salute until her captain did.

"At ease," Tessora said as she stepped down and approached them. "This is Rear Admiral Anthony Caldwell. This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard, and Commander Deanna Troi."

Caldwell nodded acknowledgment. "Captain. Commander."

"How long will it take us to reach the Neutral Zone?" Tessora asked.

"We can be there in two days, at maximum warp. It might be to our benefit to take three days -- allow time for our scientists to collaborate and come up with the most efficient and effective approach to manage the survey of the star. And time for those of us who will attempt diplomacy to review and debate our best approach," Jean-Luc said.

"I am looking forward to working with you, Captain. I've heard good things," Caldwell said. He had a mellow baritone that Deanna liked.

"We have quarters ready for you," Deanna said. "Tomorrow evening there will be a formal dinner with the senior staff."

"Thank you, Commander. I will adjourn to my quarters," Tessora said. "I would like a briefing at nine hundred hours, including our Romulan guests and our astrophysicists?"

"Of course. The commander will notify them." Jean-Luc glanced at Caldwell and back at Tessora. "If there is anything else you need, we are at your disposal."

"Thank you, Captain. Computer -- direct me to my quarters." Tessora turned and marched from the transporter room. Caldwell followed without a backward glance.

Jean-Luc started after them, so Deanna followed, thinking about admirals of yore, and the varying levels of friendliness she'd witnessed in the flag ranks. Neither admiral wasted any time; they were in the turbolift and gone by the time Jean-Luc reached the door. While they waited for the next turbolift car, he exchanged a weary look with her.

"So what have you been up to since you left the bridge?"

"I saw to the quarters for Caldwell, and went to Ten Forward, where Captain Louvois and I had a little chat. Your earlier guess was correct."

He turned his head to stare at her in disbelief. When she didn't confess to teasing him or even smile in amusement, he raised an eyebrow. "Dee...."

"I told her we were too busy for it. She's talking to Reylar, I believe."

"I see," he drawled, looking up as the lift doors opened. "Well."

"How close are we to the starbase?"

"Perhaps half an hour. Computer, Bridge."

"Good." She went inside with him, faced forward, and sighed. "I don't entirely trust her."

"What else did you discuss with her?" He was actually dreading the response.

Deanna shrugged. "Sex tourism."

Jean-Luc flinched. It took him a full minute of staring at the floor to recover from that. " _What_?"

"Reylar was there. He was much more openly questioning than he was earlier. I merely answered his questions." After that reaction, she didn't want to tell him she'd been flirting with Phillipa, especially as they were about to walk out on the bridge.

Perhaps later she would give him details.

When she could enjoy his reaction.

"You had to be there," she said, looking at the closed door, suppressing the smile.


	8. Chapter 8

Sometimes the most frustrating thing about a mission was the _waiting_. Since he'd received the fourth pip there were too many examples to count. Jean-Luc decided to take a walk rather than sit on the bridge. It helped him think, he'd found.

He finished circumnavigating the corridors on deck four while mulling over the situation with Romulus, and a short ride in the turbolift took him to deck five. He walked at a leisurely pace down the corridor and considered the admirals. Caldwell was a rear admiral in Sciences, not a surprising addition to their adventure. There would no doubt be a number of dry, technical conversations in the near future for them to smile and nod through. Tessora had seemed more serious than their last meeting with her. He had a hunch she hadn't yet told him everything.

"Jean-Luc."

He hadn't heard the footfalls until she spoke; he turned to find Phillipa carrying her small case and hurrying along the corridor. "Is it time for your departure?"

"It is." She stopped, and so he did too. The residential decks were relatively untraveled in the middle of a shift. Phillipa's warm smile was tinged with apology and guilt. "Thanks for the ride. And I'm sorry about earlier. Also -- I want to apologize to you for what happened during the court-martial."

She could only mean the one following the loss of the _Stargazer_. The odd sentiment startled him. He feigned confusion. "Who are you again? Because I could have sworn you were Captain Louvois." The unapologetic-even-when-she-made-mistakes Phillipa Louvois who bulled her way through situations that normal people found daunting did not sound penitent. There could be a fine line between confident and arrogant, and she didn't bother paying attention when she crossed it most of the time.

She snorted. "Yes, I deserve it. I obviously have issues. Mock me in absentia as well if you like. And I also want to apologize for coming aboard with the assumption you'd be up for a good time. You know... that wife of yours, she's the best thing about you now."

He guffawed, startled by the sudden endorsement. "Yes," he said with a smirk.

Phillipa shared a grin with him, then her expression softened. He braced himself for unanticipated candor and was not disappointed. "I'm glad you're happy. Honest. Take care of yourself, Captain." She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Gotta run. I've been told this is a pop-and-drop, so I need to be in the transporter waiting." She patted his shoulder and jogged back the way she'd come to the turbolift. 

Jean-Luc watched her go, walked back to the lift, and caught the next car back to the bridge just as the _Enterprise_ dropped out of warp. "Executing transport to the starbase," deLio announced. Then seconds later, "Transport complete."

"Returning to warp speed," Greenman said from the helm, tapping in the instruction. "Warp six."

Jean-Luc reached his seat and smiled down at his first officer. "Pop-and-drop completed?" Vessels in a rush to accomplish trips with multiple stops in as little time as possible had come up with the term, describing the carefully-timed abrupt stop, beamout of cargo or personnel, and resumption of warp travel.

"Aye, sir. The next shift should be arriving any time now," Deanna said, rising to her feet and crossing her arms. The movement resulted in standing just inches from him. He mirrored her posture, and his elbow brushed her arm. It was as physically intimate as they ever were while still on duty.

He glanced around the bridge. deLio was watching them from tactical behind them, the other alpha shift officers were focused on their consoles, though Carlisle's head moved slightly as if he might be listening. And then the unobtrusive, low tone sounded from the workstations. The lifts opened a few minutes later, as officers logged out of workstations, stood up, and exchanged places with the incoming staff. Mr. Mendez, the third officer, was assigned to the conn for beta shift this week; he approached Jean-Luc and Deanna with an amused little smirk.

"I relieve you, sirs."

Jean-Luc gave him a nod, letting his arms drop and turning to leave the bridge. Deanna fell in step behind him. "Steady as she goes, Mr. Mendez." The first task of the beta shift watch was to review the day's logs, and as nothing had happened worthy of addition to the logs since the admirals came aboard, they were up to date.

Deanna waited until they were nearly back to their quarters to speak. "Are we still dining with Narviat, Tarel and the others?"

"In an hour, correct?"

"Yes. So we have a little time for our own debriefing, unless you'd prefer to talk later?"

He stopped in the middle of their living room, hands on his head, staring at the image now depicted in their large picture frame that hung over the couch. Most of the images were of the wedding, but the one currently on display was a candid shot provided by Malia, of the two of them seated and watching one of the crew play the guitar. One of the medical staff had identified the people aboard who played and put together a folk music concert, "for those who don't care for classical music." Malia had caught them in profile and at a slight angle, both looking forward with expressions of content interest.

"We don't have to talk about her," Deanna said softly. She'd come up to him and stood close; when he dropped his arms and looked at her, she was watching his face with concerned interest.

"We don't, but we should. If only because I really don't know what to say, and it's always been one of my challenges -- a relationship requires being able to talk about this sort of thing."

"This sort of thing," she echoed, amused.

"Oh, yes. Case in point."

"I'm going to change into something more comfortable then."

He followed her into the bedroom, and chuckled as both of them rid themselves of the uniforms. She had gotten faster about stripping off, since her pregnancy started to strain the limits of the regular uniform.

"I didn't think I would see her again. I have an impulse to apologize to you," he said, peeling the turtleneck off and dropping it. He went to the closet and chose a loose-fitting white shirt, put on a blue vest with it. Being willing to keep the standard issue pants meant being done earlier than she, so he sat on the end of the bed to watch her choose a dress. "I like the blue one."

"This is turquoise." She held up the sleeveless dress and reached into the closet, extracting a deep blue sleeve. "This is blue."

"Cerulean," he corrected unnecessarily.

She put the turquoise back in and took a burgundy instead, holding it up to herself, then came to toss it on the bed. She went to the drawers to find underwear.

"So, if you're already wearing underwear, why -- " He stopped asking when she straightened and gave him an incredulous look. "Sorry."

"I know you're trying to be silly. I'm sorry," she said. She brought the strapless bra and matching black lace bottoms to drop them on the dress. "I'm not in the mood for silly right now."

"She found me and apologized, before she left. For her behavior during my court-martial. She's never apologized -- until she met you, and now she somehow feels remorse?"

"I'm not her psychologist, but I do wonder what an assessment would reveal."

He watched Deanna walk away to the bathroom, wearing nothing at all, and smiled. Counselor Troi was still there, even if she had to be tucked away behind the first officer most of the day. He heard the distant whine of the sonic shower briefly, then after a few minutes she re-emerged brushing out her hair, which had spent the day braided and tightly pinned up. Her ire showed in her face as she pulled through the long curls.

"Come here?" 

She sat on the end of the bed with him, turning away as he took the brush. He'd offered to brush her hair a number of times, when she was tired. While he pulled the bristles through her hair slowly she seemed to relax, lean back a little more, until he set aside the brush and slid closer, putting his arms around her as he held her against his chest. 

"You have a type," she mumbled. The weight of her head rested on his shoulder, and her hair rubbed his cheek.

"Yes, and it's much more specific than it used to be."

"I love you too, sweet fish." It was reassuring that he could finally detect the bond again, after several hours of not having that connection. When she was focused on others it could be difficult for him to access.

"You sound tired -- I'm sorry that dealing with elephants contributed to that."

She sat up, moving away from him and reaching for her clothes. He fastened her bra for her, and watched her stand up to put on the rest. "Phillipa wasn't so difficult, frankly. She was less work than Reylar. I may have created a monster, he's chatting up random crew members looking for sex. He approached Ward in a very unsubtle manner. Thankfully he takes no for an answer."

That made no sense. "How is that your fault?"

She pulled up the dress and turned around so he could fasten the back for her. It was one of her off-the-shoulder sleeveless ones, with a long flowing skirt. The burgundy wasn't her usual; she'd always favored cooler colors. But it was stunning on her, he stood back and appreciated it wholeheartedly as she spun in place, smiling as the skirt billowed around her calves. She headed for the dressing table and sat in front of the mirror. It made him happy to see her using combs to sweep her hair back from her face instead of putting it up in a more severe style again. 

"While Phillipa and I were chatting with him I may have inadvertently encouraged that behavior," she said, pulling the cap off some lipstick and applying it. "Evidently he's worked with Starfleet before but has been unsuccessful in finding anyone to teach him how humans connect with sexual partners."

"So you introduced him to her," he said, imagining it. 

"I did. We explained how tone of voice matters, and how relationships between humans tend to progress." She put silver hoops in her ears and stood. She'd put on her swan necklace; the pendant dangled against her chest. 

"Maybe I should have you give _me_ lessons."

That earned him a smile, as she returned to the closet to find shoes. She stepped into pair of black heels and turned to him, hand on her hip. "Would you like me to wait until after dinner, or start now?"

Jean-Luc took the few steps required to stand in front of her. She met his gaze, wide eyes welcoming him. "Hello," he murmured, touching her abdomen, leaning until their lips met.

When they parted she giggled. "Lessons, indeed. Shall we?"

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, after a shower and a little time with you." She lost some of the amusement, as she thought about something else. "Why did Phillipa's suggestion upset you?"

It was a strange question, given they were about to leave. But one he had already asked himself. "I know it isn't unusual for couples to engage in such arrangements. I've never thought about the possibility. And I don't want to think about it with her."

It was perhaps predictable, that she went on to ask, "Would you think about it with someone else?"

"Is it something you want to pursue?" Even while he asked, he felt the deep-seated reluctance that she must sense.

"Only if you wanted it. And so I will drop the matter until you want to talk about it again, now that I have my answer." She took his hand and led him out of the bedroom.

"You're pregnant," he said, as if it had something to do with it. Although it likely had something to do with how he felt. Since finding out she had conceived he'd been through a lot of unexpected perspective-shifting emotions.

"I know. It's made you possessive." She let go of his hand as they left their quarters. 

"Does that bother you?"

She hesitated in the corridor to look at him. "You aren't letting it change the way you treat me, so no. I think it bothers you?"

"I'm not sure why." 

Deanna gripped his arm gently, as she had done so many times before when he was in counseling. "Does it help to know that it's normal, to feel overwhelmed and conflicted, when you're expecting your first child?"

He sighed heavily. "It helps to know you are aware that I'm doing the best I can."

"Have you thought about counseling?"

He couldn't manage a proper scowl, this time. She'd suggested it before their trip to Betazed, after a nightmare about Ressik had awakened both of them. He'd avoided going, because the nightmare hadn't recurred. But his resistance wavered in the face of her obvious concern. "I'll think about it."

"Good. Let's go meet our friends."


	9. Chapter 9

Toreth picked up the dress, holding it out in both hands. There were similar articles of clothing in Romulan tradition, but the humans had endless versions of it. Yet another sign of a culture of decadence. Someone had the time to design infinite versions of this and many other types of clothing.

So far, being aboard the _Enterprise_ as a welcome guest and without the anxiety of being at their mercy was a unique experience. With their free time in transit, she had done as encouraged by Tarel and Deanna -- spent time in departments that had no analog aboard a Romulan vessel. The people in the various subdivisions of Sciences had answered her open questions about what they were doing. It further supported the idea that the times she had questioned the presence of a Federation ship at various points along the Neutral Zone, it was likely that the captain had correctly informed her of the scientific nature of the mission. And the science officers themselves, while initially uncomfortable with a Romulan in their midst, had warmed to her quickly.

Narviat was correct, in his assessment of the Federation -- the species in it were, so far, receptive and open to relationships with them, without the ongoing suspicion of a Romulan. Even with their own people, Romulans always suspected. The humans had a saying, trust but verify. For her, for most Romulans she knew, it was always verify, then trust. A difficult instinct to have, but she had nonetheless applied for Federation membership.

The computer signaled someone at the door. "Enter," she intoned, tossing the bright green dress on the back of a chair. She turned to greet her guest and Deanna walked in. The commander wore a burgundy gown, her shoulders bare, her head held high. She carried herself with confidence and ease. Her hair, all ringlets and waves, was down over her shoulders. As she walked the light caught a tiny pendant at her throat. She glanced at the dress.

"Is this what you're wearing to dinner?"

Toreth gestured helplessly with her hands. "I'm not like my sister, used to dressing for parties. I chose it but I confess that the implementation is confusing." She gestured at the straps. In the image they'd gone over the shoulder, but there was no easy way that she could see to get into it.

Deanna picked it up, hummed a little, and eyed Toreth. "Would you like help?"

"I would appreciate any advice," Toreth confessed.

Deanna dropped the dress on the chair and went to the replicator. After a few moments sorting through options on the small screen, she tapped in a few commands and another dress materialized. She picked it up and let it unfold, brought it over and held it up to Toreth. "How about this?"

"I like the color," Toreth said, taking it from her. The material was softer, without the sheen -- a dark green with stitching in gold, and a diagonal swatch across the chest that tied at the hip. "I will try it on."

"I'll wait," Deanna said, clasping her hands in front of her.

Toreth went to the bedroom and took off the tunic and pants, pulled the dress over her head and straightened it as she turned about in front of the mirror. It felt foreign and looked odd to her eyes. But it wasn't terrible. She went barefoot to show Deanna, feeling ridiculous.

"I think it's a good fit. You'll need shoes." Deanna extended a foot, showing her a black slip-on with a tall precarious-looking heel. "Something like this with a shorter, more stable heel would do."

"If that's what is customary. Tarel challenged me to try something Terran, I wouldn't want to disappoint her."

Deanna returned from her second replicator visit with a pair of dark green shoes to match the dress. They were a little tight, so she exchanged them for a larger size that fit comfortably. "I like it," Deanna said as Toreth stood up and turned about in place.

"Then I suppose I am ready to go."

She wobbled a little but stayed upright, as they went the short distance to the suite shared by Narviat and Tarel. Jean-Luc was holding a glass, turning to smile as they entered the room -- another luxurious suite large enough for ten people. The human captain's eyes swept over Toreth appreciatively, but his focus was clearly on his wife, his smile warming as she came to his side.

"Challenge accepted," Toreth said, crossing the room to Tarel, who stood at the replicator. Her sister wore a shorter dress, something pink. Her shoes were similar to Toreth's, but in gold. Toreth wondered if Deanna had helped her as well.

Tarel handed one of two glasses she took from the replicator slot to Toreth. "It's some of that tea you like," she said. They'd had plenty of opportunities on Betazed to try all the restaurants featuring foods from all over the Alpha Quadrant. Tarkalian tea was one of the more popular beverages, and Toreth had found it suited her palate as well.

" _Tetya_ , tell me, how is it that there are so many variations on clothing? Since we have been living on Betazed it has been obvious that many of the Federation member worlds have nothing to do but create bizarre and fanciful clothes," Narviat exclaimed. He was seated on the long couch along the wall, quite relaxed and sipping some alcoholic beverage he had discovered at a resort on Betazed. Toreth had seen him drinking the same swirl of pink and orange often since.

"In some cultures, clothing is elevated to an art form. It's a form of self expression for Betazoids as well as for many humans." Deanna gracefully moved to the couch to sit down, and Jean-Luc went with her.

"I confess that I have observed a great many differences," Toreth said, carrying her glass to one of the three upholstered chairs arranged around a low table in front of the couch. She sat stiffly, refusing to conform to the lazy reclined back.

"Toreth is less settled than the rest of us," Tarel commented, choosing the chair on Toreth's right. She had no difficulty relaxing into the padded embrace of a seat that one would never find on any warbird. "Relax, won't you? We're not about to be ambushed by cloaked vessels."

Toreth caught the tense expression that flitted across Deanna's face, as she turned to her sister. It almost kept her from responding. "And how would you be able to tell if we were? It's the point of a cloak, after all, to avoid detection until you're ready to act."

"Your scientists are interesting," Narviat said, making an attempt to shift the conversation. "Particularly the Vissian."

 _Oh, that man_! Narviat could still be manipulative. Toreth made a face. Tarel laughed at it. "Toreth doesn't care for Reylar. He was a little too interested in her."

"Reylar is a good scientist, but he's also _necdovan_ ," Deanna said, her expression one of dismay. "If he is continuing to bother you despite your rejection of his advances, please let me know."

"I've heard that word before," Toreth said. "But I don't remember the meaning."

"A sex tourist," Tarel supplied. She paid more attention and actually attempted to speak Betazoid. A daunting task for someone without telepathic ability.

"Ah, yes. Such as all the ones at that resort, the palace?" Toreth said, disapproving. Narviat's ideas for sightseeing were usually lacking, in her estimation.

"The Paradise Palace," Deanna corrected gently. "I take it you've visited?"

Toreth glared at Narviat, who now rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I was curious," he said, turning to the woman of whom he had become far too fond. Calling her _tetya_ as if she were family, even embracing her from time to time -- Toreth liked her well enough but Narviat was either behaving like a fool, or playing Deanna for one. She wasn't certain which bothered her more. Her sister's husband had never completely earned Toreth's trust, and it was due to his history in the Tal Shiar, which she abhorred.

Deanna, she noticed then, was gazing at her with awareness -- and saying nothing. Toreth held her gaze steadily for a few heartbeats and then sipped her tea. Was Deanna really empathic? Or telepathic, as were the Betazoids with whom Toreth had spent the last months of her life? Most were polite to a fault. Once in a while one of them would say some thought of hers out loud. It led to schooling herself to be benign, think carefully.

M'Ret arrived with Tyreen, and the disruption was a relief to Toreth. The former proconsul and his wife were even more relaxed than Narviat; M'Ret had had years to bond with Betazoids, and from the moment Toreth had met him, his manner set her teeth on edge. His entire personality appeared to have shifted. No guarded Romulan instinct left in him. That in itself led her to suspect him. For what, she wasn't sure, but it made her grit her teeth. Toreth drank her tea while greetings were exchanged without much attention to what was said until Tyreen said, "This is for you."

Toreth looked up -- the older couple had settled on the end of the couch, and Tyreen handed a parcel to Jean-Luc. He gave it to Deanna, and when she opened it, Toreth saw that the couple had given them a traditional Romulan infant wrap in purple -- the color of the Fifth House. 

"Since I could not sort out how to get the replicators in our house to make it, I had to find a seamstress on Betazed," Tyreen said. "It's a wrap that the grandparent makes for the first grandchild born to the family."

"It's so soft," Deanna murmured, caressing the material and running her fingers along the edges of the tiny hood. "Thank you."

"Children are of great importance," M'Ret said. "Romulan families rarely have more than one."

"Thank you," Jean-Luc added, turning to look at them -- Toreth could tell he was touched by the gesture. Deanna folded the little garment and seemed a little teary-eyed. 

"So what are we having for dinner?" M'Ret asked. The man smiled and glanced around the room at each of them, until he came to Toreth -- his head tilted and his chin came up. "You are not happy, Toreth."

"I am neither happy nor unhappy," Toreth said. She ignored Deanna, made a point of not looking at her, as she suspected there would be confirmation in her face that the Betazoid sensed the lie. "I am enjoying my tea and the absence of Reylar."

"Oh, that man," Tyreen said with a smile. "We spoke to him at some length about the Vissian culture last night at the reception. He's very friendly. Did you know that Vissians have three genders?"

"How does that work?" Tarel asked. 

Toreth almost -- almost! -- started to laugh. She drowned her frustration in another mouthful of tea and started to miss her little house on Betazed, where she could avoid the ongoing meanderings of her fellow expatriates as they explored the Federation via databases and holography. Tarel and Tyreen in particular were insatiably curious about cultures they had never heard about.

"The third gender is something they call a cogenitor," M'Ret said. "It's only necessary when they wish to have a child. The remainder of the time sex is for pleasure and it's obviously something that's on Reylar's mind, especially presently. Apparently he has been hoping to explore sexuality with other species but has been hesitant to speak up due to past experiences."

"So you spoke with him about this at length?" Narviat sounded as disbelieving as Toreth. 

"Have _you_ ever had sex with someone of another species?" M'Ret asked.

It was interesting that no one in the room reacted to the simple question with overt emotion except for Jean-Luc. He suddenly seemed most interested in the glass in his hand, or perhaps it was the floor. His face was a study in inscrutability. Deanna had a concerned, detached expression as she looked past her husband at Narviat.

"I have. Have you?"

M'Ret chuckled. "I have. That excursion we took to Paradise Palace was not my first visit."

Deanna hummed a little, the corners of her mouth rising just a little. "Some species have restrictive ideas about sex. Many expect that it remain confined to one's spouse, once one exists. Rihannsu do not appear to be one of them."

"Curious," Tarel said. "There is a general idea in our society that sex with _aliens_ is wrong. We do not often have half breeds among us. And if we do, no one tells.... The dilution has a stigma attached. But the act itself is not restricted to spouses, though it is generally frowned upon to have children with others."

"Old tradition would expect that the birth of a bastard to a married woman would give the husband the right to kill her and the infant," M'Ret put in. "But no one adheres to the old ways."

Toreth continued to watch Jean-Luc, who continued to be frozen in place. He sipped a little of the amber liquid in his glass. Deanna didn't so much as glance at him.

"Betazoids seem similar, in attitude. The ones we have met do." Tyreen was glancing at Toreth now. Likely because she hadn't said anything else.

"You have met a restricted pool of Betazoids. There are many who do not care at all about sexual activity." Deanna noticed her husband's reaction, an understated expression of surprise, and smiled.

"Obviously not you," Toreth said with a wry grin.

Tarel laughed openly, and Deanna followed suit. Her right hand went to her belly. She nudged Jean-Luc with her elbow. Raising his head, he shrugged and gazed at her with the silliest little smile. It was a crack in the formal facade Toreth had come to know and question, and she found it endearing. She chuckled, heads turned at the sound, and then she laughed herself, at their surprise, at the captain's reaction -- who would have guessed the famed Captain Picard would be so ridiculous about such a basic topic?

And so Narviat laughed, quickly followed by M'Ret. Then Jean-Luc -- Toreth almost stopped in surprise, at the sound of his laughter. He put an arm around Deanna, another first. She often touched him on the arm or briefly on the shoulder or back, but Toreth couldn't remember him doing more than smile at Deanna in her presence. He was the least demonstrative man she'd met, and Deanna was so warm and affectionate, that Toreth had wondered.

The computer sounded the double tone of someone at the door, in the middle of the mirth. It stopped most of it; Narviat was still chortling when he told the computer to let the person in.

A tall, dark-skinned man in uniform strode in the door. It halted all the chuckling aftermath, and Jean-Luc stood up. "Admiral," he exclaimed.

"I'm sorry -- I asked the computer where you were. I appear to have interrupted," the man said with a smile. He glanced around at all of them.

"This is Admiral Caldwell," Deanna said, putting her glass on the table and rising to stand with Jean-Luc. "Admiral, this is Narviat and Tarel... M'Ret and Tyreen," she gestured to her right at the older couple, "and Toreth. We were just discussing cultural differences."

Toreth guffawed, and resorted to drinking more of the tea she'd almost spilled while laughing.

"Welcome," Narviat exclaimed. "Would you care for something to drink?"

"Thank you -- you don't care that I'm overdressed?" He patted his chest with both hands. The easy grin was remarkable to Toreth. Had she, eight years before while still in command of her warbird, walked into a room full of Federation officers, she would not have been so at ease.

"Are you comfortable having wine while wearing the bars?" Jean-Luc indicated the dining table on the other side of the room, which was set and waiting, with a tall bottle of wine in the center.

The admiral removed a pin from the collar of his shirt, tossed it up in the air, caught it, and stepped forward, closer to the couch. "I didn't have a chance before -- it is an honor to meet you, Captain," he said, holding out a hand.

The gesture changed things. Jean-Luc was back to his prior collected and calm self, as he took the man's hand. "Admiral."

"Anthony, or Tony -- no bars," he exclaimed with a grin, waving the pin and tucking it away in a pocket.

"Jean-Luc, then."

"And Mrs. Picard," he said, holding out a hand to Deanna.

"Deanna Troi," she said with a serene smile. Her brief shake of the man's hand wasn't as firm as her husband's.

"Of course. Of the Fifth House," he said. "I've been there -- your mother is a wonderful woman."

"She is, thank you," Deanna said. She retrieved her glass and as she stood up again she flashed a wary look at Toreth, at Narviat who stood in place watching the exchange, and Toreth caught a flicker of Deanna's fingers followed by a tightening of Narviat's mouth. That was the sign language of the Tal Shiar in action. Something must have caused suspicion of the admiral.

So they were on their guard again, for reasons yet unknown, but likely Deanna sensed something that she didn't trust from the admiral. Toreth rose and went to the replicator for more Tarkalian tea.

Now, she trusted Deanna more, and hoped there would be an opportunity to speak to her privately.


	10. Chapter 10

Deanna wished her stomach would settle already. The bland breakfast she'd just consumed seemed to be sitting in a lump in her gut. She tried to seem normal, walking with Jean-Luc to the turbolift to start the long day ahead of them.

"You should go to sickbay," he commented as they went in. He was getting better at noticing subtle clues that she wasn't feeling well.

"I'm pregnant, and going to sickbay for every damn thing is going to mean I'm there every day," she snapped. And the guilt was immediate. "I'm sorry. I'm still tired, and this is very annoying." She hadn't slept well, after an evening with their Romulan friends and Admiral Caldwell, she'd had a lot to think about. That Caldwell had not lied or showed signs of being what she sensed he was didn't reassure her. She could sense the presence of an implant like Tom Glendenning's, and so acted out of caution, warning her friends. The evening had been strained but not terrible. Hopefully Caldwell would chalk up any tension he noticed to the situation.

"I know," he said, leaning her direction and kissing her cheek. He also knew how to flip her mood with a gesture. Attentive to a fault.

"Bridge," she said with determination. The movement of the lift took that determination away again within a minute. "Sickbay."

He sighed audibly, as the lift rerouted, and stayed inside as she darted out toward her destination, with the lump of breakfast in her belly wanting to leave it. He projected a wave of sympathy after her, and she swept through the door into main sickbay, to be frustrated again by Mengis' knowing smile. "Are you _sure_ there's nothing to be done about this nausea?" she blurted.

"There are remedies for humans, and remedies for Betazoids, and I have attempt number four at a remedy for you, ready to try -- if you will?" He gestured at the nearest biobed. "Might as well combine this visit with a checkup. It seems you'll be quite busy for a while."

There was a slight delay as breakfast made an untimely appearance. She tried not to look, as she lay on the biobed and a couple of the sickbay staff quickly cleaned up after her, while Dr. Mengis checked her over. He administered the hypospray and pronounced her as fit as ever. She sat up, noticed the two women moving out of main sickbay with their cleaning supplies, and eyed the doctor anew.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Have you met Admiral Caldwell yet?"

"I have not -- though I did get the notice about the staff meeting this morning, at which he will be present along with Tessora. And I did have a look at who he actually is, in the computer's records."

Deanna hesitated -- she had been waiting for a time when it would be relevant to reveal that she knew he had an implant of a particular kind used by Section 31. She'd spent some sleepless hours last night debating, and decided. Now she second-guessed, as once the secret was out, it couldn't return to secrecy.

But, there were other reasons to make it known, her own security and that of her family among them.

"I believe he is, or has been in the past, a member of Section 31," she said softly.

Mengis didn't so much as move an eyebrow. But she sensed the rise in anxiety, swiftly shut off as no doubt he implemented the implant as it was designed to be used. "I wonder why you are telling me this?"

"Because I believe that I can trust you even though you are the same."

 _That_ made him flinch. He even took a step backward. Silence drew out longer, and then he inhaled, exhaled noisily, and crossed his arms. She carefully monitored his emotions while staring unblinkingly at his face, which she knew would continue to stress him, as it underlined her words nicely with the threat of revelation.

"How long have you known?" he said very, very softly.

"A while. I want you to turn off the implant and tell me whether I can trust you or not."

He blinked, and she sensed the change; now he was anxious again, afraid, regretful and sad. All that she would anticipate someone with good intentions might feel. "You can trust me to act in your best interests, and Starfleet's."

"Can I trust you to tell me if Section 31 is actively monitoring us, or acting against us?"

A head tilt at that, and he tapped his mustache thoughtfully. "You can. However, it leads me to wonder why you believe that I would know such things. My experiences with them are all ancient -- more than a decade has gone by without contact. I have not heard from anyone nor been ordered to do anything."

"Caldwell has an implant. He's done nothing so far that leads me to believe he's lying or manipulating, but he may be observing for them. I have reason to believe they have been doing so here and there for some time. It has something to do with the Romulans, and they may have Romulan agents working against Captain Picard, because there have been multiple occasions where a Romulan has showed up where he is -- so I am enlisting you, Doctor, in the effort to protect him."

Mengis nodded. He glanced to his right, as the staff returned. "How do you feel?" he asked in a normal tone.

"Better, thank you. I'll see you at the staff meeting." Deanna shot a smile at the nurses and turned to leave. He hadn't reacted in any way that raised suspicion for her, so it reassured her that he wouldn't be detrimental to them or to the mission.

Jean-Luc had a guest on the bridge -- when she arrived, Admiral Tessora was sitting in the counselor's chair. They watched Deanna go to her own seat and then continued to converse. "What would you anticipate his reaction will be, if we are able to find him and attempt extraction? I'm surprised that he has been there for so many years."

"I wouldn't presume to speculate. I would hope that Spock would leave -- although he does have a history of unpredictable behavior, where the Romulans are concerned. I had expected he would leave with us when I brought him the news of his father's death." Jean-Luc had mixed feelings about that, for good reason. His meld with Sarek had led to more emotional investment in Spock's situation than he'd previously had. "How many other Federation agents are we anticipating we might recover?"

A pause, as Tessora decided whether or not to answer. "I believe four -- there have been a few who have already exited the Empire on their own."

Jean-Luc turned to look directly at Deanna. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you, sir."

The aft turbolift opened, and Caldwell strolled out, smiling as he approached them. "Good morning! I'm here for the meeting."

"Mr. Carlisle, you have the bridge. The commander and I will be in the observation lounge until the start of the senior staff briefing with the admirals," Jean-Luc said, rising to his feet.

It would be a long day of meetings -- first with admirals, then senior staff, then with the admirals and Narviat, Toreth and M'Ret plus the collected astrophysicists. Then Deanna would be meeting with the department heads from Sciences and Ward Carlisle, about the allocation of ship's resources. deLio would be running tactical drills on the bridge the following morning.

Deanna silently asked Yves for cooperation, as her stomach lurched and flipped. Perhaps she could settle it with a slice of plain bread while they met with the admirals, she thought, following them into the observation lounge. She went first to the replicator and returned to sit across the table from Jean-Luc, placing her plate in front of her and smiling at Tessora, who glanced at the bread with bemusement. Caldwell asked the computer for coffee.

"Morning sickness has been an issue. I'm trying to settle my stomach -- sorry," Deanna said.

Admiral Tessora unexpectedly beamed at her. "Congratulations, Commander. You know... I drank a lot of ginger tea, when I was expecting."

"Maybe I'll try that next. I feel like I might drown in chamomile by the end of ten months," Deanna said. It was not the first time someone had suggested it. Everyone had a suggestion, especially the mothers.

Tessora watched Caldwell come to sit next to her with two steaming cups of coffee. The smell of it set off Deanna's nausea again. She broke off a piece of bread and put it in her mouth.

"We have a rough plan, as well as contingencies," Jean-Luc said, though she sensed his concern for her, which was different than the concern he felt about the mission. He was pointedly avoiding looking at her. "We have a list of warbird commanders, and Toreth has given us her insight into the likelihood that various individuals might speak to us instead of simply opening fire. And some insight into how to detect cloaked vessels."

Deanna watched Tessora's face, but tracked Caldwell's internal reactions, as Jean-Luc spoke. Tessora had no issues with them, no concerns but the mission. Caldwell had that confusing, blunted emotional melange that the implant was apparently designed to create. The conversation between the captain and Tessora followed a predictable track, so she kept her attention on trying to nibble bread unobtrusively and monitoring Caldwell.

"I'd hope that we can talk our way in," Caldwell said, adding to the conversation suddenly as Jean-Luc finished a thought about the Romulan Senate.

"Diplomacy is certainly our preferred option," Tessora said. "I realize that we have not discussed it much yet, but the captain has more experience in handling Romulan encounters in that manner."

"I have high hopes that the commander will be as helpful with that as she has been with prior missions," Jean-Luc said.

"How many times have you confronted the Romulans?" Caldwell asked.

It was a different sensation, a different emotional arrangement, that backed a question that someone already knew the answer to -- Deanna knew how to interpret it, though. She smiled serenely, and replied in Romulan, "At least five. Several required learning the language."

Tessora looked up as if surprised; of course she knew, and so she must be playing to Caldwell, feigning ignorance. It made Deanna suspect that she knew what Caldwell was. "How well do you speak Romulan?"

"You should ask Narviat. I'm not fluent enough to keep up with their conversations." Jean-Luc stood up. "Computer, Earl Grey, hot."

"So you're fluent?" Tessora asked, smiling at Deanna.

"I've always been good at languages. I've also had opportunities to practice. Since we have the computer set to not translate it automatically, you must speak it also?" Caldwell, on the other hand, hadn't recognized it, judging from his surprise.

"With an accent, alas. And likely not as fluently." Tessora eyed her cup of coffee, watched Jean-Luc return with his tea, and got up herself to go to the replicator. "We should practice."

"We can take some time to do that, extend our travel time by slowing progress to the Neutral Zone by a day," Deanna said. "Reylar already informed us after an initial conversation with Dara that he feels they need more time. Some information was shared back and forth before we picked them up, but they were hoping to have enough time to develop a more cohesive plan. And now that they've had a look at our astrometrics, Reylar wants to rethink his tentative plans already. He believes there is a way to synchronize the systems in his stratopod with our computer, so that no one needs to go out into the star -- he questioned whether the stratopod might be an easy target if the Romulan fleet becomes aggressive."

Tessora returned with a different cup. "There are numerous factions within the Empire. At this time, it looks like not all of them are even aware of the decline in their star. The Senate has kept the news from the majority of the populace. But, as was discussed earlier, I have made an effort to discuss the matter directly with the Security Council regarding the matter, and it was decided that your suggestion of circumventing the Senate to inform the populace would be worth the effort. Is there a way to seed the information while concealing the source?"

Of course, she didn't want to implicate the Federation, or the _Enterprise_. "We have a drone. It can be programmed to connect to their communications network, with some help, and a short message can be transmitted then the unit will self-destruct. It will be too small to give it a cloak but it can be equipped with a way to confound Romulan sensor grids -- courtesy of Narviat," Deanna said.

"Excellent."

"I wonder that the Romulan Fleet is already aware of their sun's status," Caldwell said. He rose from the chair, glancing at the door. "Excuse me, I'll be right back."

After he left the observation lounge, Tessora's expression went to serious and wary. "The new fleet admiral assigned him to the mission. It's not clear to me why."

"Admiral Claiborne?" Nechayev's replacement, now that she had moved up in the ranks, was unknown to Deanna. She knew more about some admirals than others -- her mother expressed opinions of Nechayev and others Lwaxana had met, and they'd entertained numerous flag officers aboard the _Enterprise_ over the years. But Claiborne was one she'd yet to meet. 

Tessora didn't appear to like the fleet admiral. At the mention of his name, her nose wrinkled slightly, and Deanna sensed the underlying distaste the woman felt for him. "Have you met Edwin Claiborne?" the admiral asked.

"Not yet," Deanna replied. 

"Once, several years ago," Jean-Luc said. "At the Academy graduation -- the last one I was invited to address. He's a human hybrid, I believe. Something about the eyes suggests it."

"He's human. His eyes are implants," Tessora said. "He lost them fairly early in his career, they were replaced several times. The current version are a bit disconcerting -- they can change color at his whim."

"Ah," Jean-Luc replied, glancing at Deanna -- probably thinking of Geordi's long resistance to implants. "I was surprised that he was promoted."

"It could easily have been Sorahl," Tessora said, referring to a Vulcan admiral of long standing. "I admit that Claiborne was not who I would have guessed -- but clearly the chiefs of staff had a different idea."

The door opened again, and Caldwell returned. He sat down again in the same chair next to Tessora, glancing around at them. His smile waned as he noted the serious expressions. "Everything all right?"

Deanna wondered what he would say if she were honest with him. But it was an easy choice to maintain the status quo, for now. "Of course." She tore off another chunk of bread and put it in her mouth. It was blander than bland, but it would keep her stomach settled.

"At the moment. We have yet to enter Romulan space," Tessora said. "Have you had a look at the stratopod?"

It was an odd change of subject, but perhaps the admiral didn't even want to hint that they'd been discussing Claiborne, which led Deanna to think that she definitely knew more about Caldwell than she was telling them. Caldwell showed no sign that he suspected anything, kept projecting the easygoing persona he'd had since coming aboard. "I went to look it over briefly. I'll be going down there with the engineers and Reylar later today for the more comprehensive tour." He hesitated, and Deanna could sense the sudden shift to tension in him. She tore off more bread, keeping her eyes on it instead of giving away that she had reason to suspect anything.

"Have you discussed the possibility that Section 31 might be enmeshed in the situation already?"

Caldwell's question sent the tension from Tessora and Jean-Luc skyrocketing. Deanna took a deep breath and came to the conclusion that he must be testing the waters. Trying to determine what they knew, and who knew it. She turned her head and raised an eyebrow at her captain, then smiled at Caldwell across the table. "Are you saying that Section 31 actually exists? I thought that was nothing but a rumor."

Tessora said nothing. Deanna supposed this to be the best response she could make. Jean-Luc merely sipped his tea. When he finally spoke, he managed to sound a little bored. "A rumor that keeps making the rounds, and diminishes the contributions of our intelligence officers."

Caldwell leaned forward a little, his expression suggesting he wasn't quite able to believe what he was hearing. His emotional state shifted to satisfaction, however, which led Deanna to her own level of satisfaction that they hadn't done anything to suggest they suspected him. "It's difficult to believe, I know. But I don't think we should dismiss the possibility. If there were any justification for such tactics, it would be dealing with the Romulans. I had heard that they were active during the war."

"Even if the Section exists and is involved somehow, what difference would that make in what we do? Recovering Federation assets and assessing the star don't appear to be tasks they would consider issues." Jean-Luc narrowed his eyes. "I thought you were in Sciences division?"

"We have the senior staff arriving in a few minutes. Is there anything else to discuss before they get here?" Deanna said, hoping to redirect. 

"Do you have any concerns about the crew?" Tessora asked. "I know you have many cadets and less experienced officers generally are more numerous these days than the veterans."

"Cadets have been assigned in stations that will keep them from becoming an impediment or distraction in a crisis," Deanna said, as that had been her arrangement to make. 

"I have no concerns about the bridge crew, who will be the ones in direct contact with the Romulans. I anticipate that all of my officers will conduct themselves to our usual high standard of behavior," Jean-Luc said, his tone hard.

The computer chimed, announcing someone requesting entry. Deanna stood up and went to open it manually. deLio stood in the door, and she nodded and glanced back at the others -- Tessora smiled and gave the nod, and so Deanna stood aside to wave him inside. Time for the staff meeting.


	11. Chapter 11

"It's an amazing craft," Dara exclaimed as she sat in the tiny cockpit of the stratopod.

"I have examined quite a few stars very closely with it," Reylar said, watching her touch the controls.

"It's fascinating to me how different species go about the same tasks, you know? These panels feel different than ours, and the _Enterprise_ is different still. And our computers don't have the voice control." Dara thought about home again, and how much she missed it, nearly every hour. As fascinating and exciting as it was to travel on this starship, she missed her family.

"Oh, yes. I was excited to be afforded this opportunity. I've always enjoyed traveling in the Federation, now I will be the first of my people to visit the Romulan Empire," he commented.

Dara smiled at him. He was so confident, unlike herself -- the thought of going into the Romulan Empire made her quiver inside, after all that she'd heard about them. The individuals currently on board did not seem to her to be hostile, but she understood that generally Romulans were regarded to be deceptive. "I hope everything goes to plan. I'm looking forward to seeing the star -- wouldn't it be exciting if we could actually help it recover?"

"When we return to Federation space, do you think your government would welcome my help?"

She looked up again, from the display in front of her. "I think they would! What a generous offer, Reylar, thank you," she exclaimed.

"I'm always appreciative of opportunities to further my studies. And if it helps someone, all the better." He leaned and touched a few controls, and the view forward lit up with holographic information, data streaming above in Vissian. Another adjustment and the view of the _Enterprise_ 's shuttle bay vanished, replaced by an image of a star looming large. A red giant, she thought.

"One of your surveys?" she asked.

"This was in a remote system many days' travel from Vissia. It was a great opportunity. My first survey, I was assisting one of our experienced heliophysists -- such elation to fly into the photosphere, to see it first hand." He waved a hand at the display and the haze of reds and oranges went into motion, as it replayed. "I loaded this to use as a tutorial for anyone who wanted to learn how the stratopod works. Would you like to give it a try? I can flip it into interactive mode and the controls will respond as if we're actually flying through a star."

Dara watched the swooping gasses turning and whirling across the display. "I would like that. But first, would you mind answering a question?"

"Certainly. Ask anything."

Dara turned to look at him. The ridges around the edges of his face were unique; at first they'd been distracting to her. She was becoming more and more used to his alien face. Commander Troi had reassured her it was normal, for people with little contact with other species to feel an instinctual sense of unease. At least until they had more exposure, and she was doing her best to adjust. She'd spent most of the day in the ship's lounge, where Reylar had found her and struck up a conversation.

"Your people joined the Federation quite some time ago, I believe?"

"Yes. More than a century ago."

"My government argues, about joining. The Dominion War has made them wary -- we are trying to survive and don't need wars on our doorstep, they say. But my impression so far of the Federation has been positive."

"Vissia has been satisfied with membership. We have a representative on the Federation Council. I can't say that we've found anything that leads us to regret our association with them. The humans seem to be the most active of the species, by far, very curious people. Never satisfied with what they have, always looking beyond the boundaries and exploring."

"The first officer showed me some of the ship. It's amazing, how far their sciences have developed. Farther than Kaelon science in all aspects but one - we've been so focused on trying to save our world from our own star." Tears started despite her efforts -- sometimes she couldn't contain her grief, and it could hit her in the least expected moments. The thought of everything being destroyed became more and more real with the passage of time, looking at the reports and the readouts from the Kaelon sun. 

"Dara," Reylar said softly. "I'm sorry. I will do everything I can to help."

"Thank you," she whispered brokenly. "But... first we need to go to Romulus. We should focus on that."

"I think we'll succeed, without battles. The captain is confident. The Romulans are cautiously optimistic. The admiral, Caldwell... I wonder about him. But he too said he is here to help."

That was an odd thing to say. The admiral had seemed cordial and just as formally pleasant as any government official she'd ever met. "What do you mean? What about Caldwell?"

Reylar shook his head. "It's likely nothing at all."

"If you have a suspicion, the commander should know about it." She thought that Troi would be the one to tell, as certainly the Betazoid could tell if someone might be telling the truth. And she and the captain seemed to be the ones most invested in the mission.

"I wouldn't call it suspicion. There was just something... off. He came to see the stratopod, asked for an explanation of how it worked. When I attempted to explain he asked some questions, but it seemed to me that he wasn't quite as knowledgeable as I would have expected, for someone in charge of sciences in Starfleet. I had easier conversations with the ensigns in Engineering here on the ship." Reylar shook his head. "But I supposed that being a department head might mean he's less well-versed in the latest research, or perhaps he's forgetting the terminology? I am not well versed in the quirks of humans."

"It may be nothing. But it may also be something. Would you mind if I mentioned it to her? She _does_ know about humans, she's lived and worked among them for a long time."

"No, if you feel so strongly, perhaps she should know. But I do hope it is nothing."


	12. Chapter 12

The young woman approached almost silently -- but Spock could still hear well enough to detect the scuff of her soft-soled shoes on the floor.

The latest of his temporary abodes had been his longest. For the past three months he had been in a small house in a village four days' walk from the capital, an agricultural town. The Romulan culture was fascinating -- some of the smaller towns were almost regressive. There were modern touches but many people lived very simply and without all the technology that people in the larger cities could access. This particular house was roughly-made, of cheap materials, the windows leaking cold air at night and the walls poorly insulated. It was winter in this hemisphere, and the nights were longer than those on Vulcan. There were times when, just for a few minutes, he missed the clean, modern home he'd had on his home world -- warm, at a word to the house computer.

No computers here. Liat was a small farming village, off the main routes. His friends had recommended it to him as a retreat. The situation in the capital was such that it was deemed too dangerous for him to remain there.

" _Streya_ , your meal is prepared," Teyal said softly. She stood outside the door, which was ajar, out of sight. She was the daughter of a friend, assigned to him to prepare meals and do house chores that he was increasingly unable to manage. His age was indeed causing him difficulties, as well as long separation from adequate healthcare. His joints hurt most days, and sometimes became difficult to ignore. And his control over his emotions was slipping, despite his efforts to meditate. He required more and more time in meditation to offset the changes.

"Thank you." He heard her retreat. Sitting up slowly, pushing back the blankets, he put his bare feet in the soft shoes waiting at the edge of his bed. He stood up with the care he needed, to avoid sudden spasms in his leg muscles, and turned to take his soft gray robes from the hook on the wall. He put his arms through the heavy sleeves and tied the belt.

When he made his unhurried way to the dining room at the other end of the hall, he saw that the small bed Teyal used had already been folded and put away, and the adjoining room was ready for the day's use as a living room. He went left, to sit at the table and watch her bring him his preferred breakfast. She, too, wore heavy robes typical of the region -- she had the forehead ridges and skin tone typical of her home region, but as Romulans often intermarried across boundaries it wouldn't be so unusual despite the differences.

While he ate, she returned to the corner to fetch her own food from the primitive stove. "You will have a visitor today."

Not specifying meant that it was someone from the underground reunification movement. Likely her father, D'mir, or her brother D'Tan. D'mir was a member of the movement recruited by Pardek decades ago, though unlike Pardek he hadn't betrayed them. Proconsul Pardek had later gone on to an untimely end; Romulans were not a forgiving species, particularly ones that had risen to power, something that seemed to also make their paranoia increase.

"It will be good to have the company."

D'Tan arrived two hours later, as Spock sat in the sun on the patio outside to meditate. The wooden bench had been placed near a flowering tree, and the sky was tinged orange. A temporary change; dust from the fields surrounding the village was in the air, as the fields were plowed under in preparation for planting, which would being in a few weeks. The local crop, a grain with a long life cycle, needed to be planted in the depths of winter so that it would be ready to harvest in spring. Spock raised his eyes to D'Tan's face, as the young man stopped in front of him and raised his hand in salute. Parting his fingers to return the salute caused slight pain in the finger joints. Perhaps it would be a good day for the analgesics he kept in reserve, for the times they were most needed.

"Welcome, my friend. I trust your journey was uneventful." Spock raised a hand, adjusting the positions of his fingers -- the mind meld was his only recourse now. The only way to verify identity and pass messages to other members in the leadership of the underground. The movement had caused increasing unrest in the citizens on Romulus and its colonies. With each high-ranking individual's attempt to push back against the Senate's iron-fisted control, measures to counter the message of peace and equality had increased. Romulans were not melders; there existed technology to bend and break the mind, but the skill to naturally commune via telepathy was absent in them. There had been a convincing body double who had infiltrated the underground several years ago, discovered by sheer luck before he was able to actually meet Spock in person, and so now the leaders of the underground insisted upon the extreme measures now employed, taking the utmost care in keeping him hidden. He was given sensitive messages only in a meld, now. It was what it was.

D'Tan knelt before him without a word, smiling up at his mentor and friend. Closing his eyes as Spock's finger tips found the usual places along his temple. Spock didn't even say the words. Frequent melds over time led to a deep friendship bond, and such formalities were no longer necessary.

 _There is word from the Federation. The_ Enterprise _is coming, to survey our star, to attempt to reverse the damage done by the_ Genorex _incident. They intend to recover Federation agents._

Spock raised an eyebrow. An interesting development. He was certain that Starfleet, or at least some subset of it, knew about the situation -- part of the underground's current focus was to solicit resources to address the issue. Due to the need to stay underground, out of the eye of the Senate, the effort had been largely futile. This was an unexpected and welcome surprise. Picard was a most resourceful and determined captain; surely he would not attempt such an incursion if he were not reasonably certain of success, in spite of the Romulan fleet.

_Are you going with them? Please go -- the leadership feels it's in your best interests. We've got momentum and we're certain we have enough resources to continue the work. Dr. Keran has been unable to find appropriate medications. She is concerned for your health._

_Is there a secure method of communicating with the_ Enterprise _? I need more information._

_I will pass along your request. It may take time. The vessel is projected to arrive at the Neutral Zone in just a few days. We will do our best._

_I will need to know where to go, when to be there._

He sensed D'Tan's satisfaction, and his sadness. It was bittersweet -- the young man was like a son to him. But he was an important part of the underground, an officer on a warbird that was part of the fleet responsible for patrolling the heart of the Empire. He had aspired to such a career for the sake of the movement -- to foster relationships with soldiers, to gently question and encourage others to consider that there might be another path available to them, other than blind loyalty and subservience. He was good at what he did. 

It was time -- this was Spock's opportunity. He knew he should seek medical care from doctors who understood Vulcan hybrid physiology. The movement had taken on a life of its own, and was firmly in the hands of those who would be better able to move forward. He'd become too much of a liability -- there were things he could do on Vulcan, now that he had lived among the Romulans for so long, he could be a diplomat to his own people, and to Starfleet admirals who were understandably in a heightened state of paranoia after the Dominion War.

Time to go home.

He broke the meld, and D'Tan rose to his full height then steadied Spock as he stood so very slowly, as his knees reminded him yet again of his age. "We have tea. I would appreciate an update -- how is your father?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder, M'Ret is the defector that Troi reluctantly helped in the episode Face of the Enemy. He was a high ranking Romulan politician who was part of the underground movement Spock was starting.

"You've been slow to adapt to life in the Federation," M'Ret said. "Suspicious." He spoke in Romulan, rather than Standard. The first time she had heard him do so. Of course he used the dialect common in the capital, one that higher-ranking officials tended to use.

Toreth turned from the view forward, from the viewports in the lounge. The excessive, luxurious, lounge. Where the crew of a Federation starship spent time 'chatting.' The former vice proconsul was seated across the small table from her, at ease in this environment just as he'd been on Betazed. He'd lost the upright posture of a Romulan, slumped in the chair with his elbow resting on the table.

"I understand," M'Ret went on. "It took me years to set aside the instinct to be continually on guard."

"You are assuming that I feel a need to abandon that instinct," Toreth said with a smirk. The Universal Translator that Federation computers were famous for did not seem to be operating when Romulan was spoken, so she responded in kind, hopefully assuring some level of privacy.

He laughed with her momentarily, but the smile faded quickly. "I also understand why you are on your guard with me. A failure of a proconsul, a traitor who left the Empire on your warbird, secretly. A traitor to the Empire."

"Is this why you asked me to meet with you on the eve of our attempt to rescue our people from themselves? You want to assess my loyalties?" The first few questions about how she was doing had been a warm-up to the confrontation; they weren't what she would consider 'friends' and absent their former roles in the Empire, there was no formal structure to respect. They'd rarely spoken to each other directly despite having been in the same room many times on Betazed. She spent time with her sister, and with Tyreen by association; M'Ret more often engaged in conversation with Narviat, and everyone understood why Toreth was not excessively fond of him.... Her brother-in-law had set aside his old association with the Tal Shiar, supposedly, but Toreth continued to reserve judgment. 

"Do you trust our friends, Toreth? The captain and his crew, the Vissian, the Kaelon - do you feel that any of these people is in any way a risk to this endeavor?"

So he was indeed concerned about their people. "I don't think any of those are an issue. I'm more concerned about the admirals." She leaned back in the chair, her barely-touched drink sitting on the table in front of her.

"Yes, Caldwell," he agreed, because he certainly must have seen what she had.

"I have not spoken directly to him. But I wonder if he is truly a scientist." Toreth had noticed the expressions on the faces of others -- the Vissian had been particularly transparent about his confusion, when Caldwell spoke about technicalities.

"Deanna doesn't trust him. Her behavior changes when he's in the room."

Toreth continued to make eye contact, waiting for him to go on. He smiled, as the moment of silence drew itself out.

"I think you might assume, as too many of our people do, that because Federation citizens can afford to be at ease, they are too much at ease."

"I may have had that thought, once or twice. Because they certainly do take their comforts seriously." She glanced around them, at the six crew lounging at tables around the room. "Do you trust Deanna's judgment of the admiral?"

"Has she given you any reason to mistrust?"

The verbal fencing was typical, but after so much time among the very direct Betazoids and Humans, it was starting to bother her. She took a moment to be patient with herself and remember that she too had obviously become acculturated to a degree. "No. Other than being sufficiently different than a Romulan, which is enough to cause some instinctive reaction to her. You certainly must have experienced the same."

"Fortunately the Betazoids seemed to understand why. But that was a long time ago. I don't suspect Tessora," he went on. "She met with me one-on-one to discuss the Senate, specifically, to ask which of them might be amenable to discussion of the situation. She didn't assume that it wouldn't be possible, or that it would - she asked if I thought it would be, based upon my memory of each of them."

"I'm a discredited commander, I do not understand why you are discussing this with me."

M'Ret laughed again. Behind him, a lieutenant glanced their way, pausing in his departure from the lounge. When M'Ret stopped laughing the officer continued on his way out. Noticing the movement of her eyes, M'Ret shot a look over his shoulder in time to see the man going out the door. "You are on edge. That young Human does not care that we are talking, he heard something loud and was curious."

"As a pro-consul you had guards and soldiers to be vigilant for you," she replied, tilting her head, smiling with the full awareness that neither of them had rank to fear. "While I have had to kill two, in my own defense. One who wanted to replace me, and one who acted on behalf of a rival. And the people who outranked me believe that is a good thing -- that members of our military need to be that vigilant against all threats, especially when we confront the Federation or any other enemy of the Star Empire. Is it any wonder that I am having difficulties feeling at all comfortable, anywhere?"

M'Ret's smile went away, and his eyes narrowed. "And that is why I defected. It's why I attempted to start talks on Vulcan, with their High Council. But they are as stubborn a people as we are, and my attempt failed. So my home is on Betazed, now. Our people have not changed their attitudes, and it hinders our progress -- technological advances should be made in many fields, not just for the military and not just to keep others subjugated."

"If the Vulcans would not listen, why is Spock so determined that he has been on Romulus for so long?"

M'Ret shook his head at her. "I know you were on a colony and ignoring affairs on the home world, when you say that. The official news sources said nothing about the underground, but it has been far more pervasive than the Senate would have anyone believe."

Toreth frowned. "You have contact with them, somehow."

"You helped bring Tyreen to me, and she had contact with them. She worked with them, gave them resources, did her best to continue the work. She was not the only one. She said that at the time she left, Spock and the other leaders of the movement were planning to encourage the Proconsul to take a firm stand -- to publicly denounce the Senate's mistreatment of our people, to name it as such and demand change."

That took Toreth's breath away. Dersis, the man who had risen to fill M'Ret's place as vice proconsul after M'Ret's defection, had subsequently promoted to proconsul when the previous one had died suddenly. Rumor had it that it wasn't natural causes as the official story ran. Toreth leaned forward a little as if they were at risk of being overheard. "You believe that the movement is that unified, that the movement can overtake the loyalists at last?"

"No transition will be smooth. But we have to start somewhere. Dersis has a plan to found the Romulan Republic on the ashes of the Empire."

"Will you return when that happens, to have a place in the new government?"

M'Ret crossed his arms. It was a Human gesture that Romulans didn't tend to use. "I have no way of predicting whether there would even be a place for me. We anticipate that there will be an extended period of chaos, and plan to put six individuals in place as a provisional government, to begin to build toward a public election that is not the sham that our elections have been to this point."

"With all the information you have on the underground, were you able to tell Tessora and Picard which of the fleet commanders are actually part of the movement? They would certainly be less likely to destroy a vessel you're identifying as friendly, I would think."

"That's not information any single person has. I can be of service, however, as if we establish visual contact, my presence on the bridge may be enough to make the point."

Toreth looked again out the viewport. The _Enterprise_ was traveling at low warp, approaching the Neutral Zone. In ten hours, they would cross it. Likely there would be a warbird decloaking to block their progress toward Romulus shortly after. 

"I am optimistic," M'Ret said.

Toreth snorted at the assertion. "I am willing to take the chance that we may all die, if it serves our people," she said coldly.

"We are all patriots, regardless of what the Empire may believe," he replied. 

Toreth picked up her cup. The Tarkalian tea tasted sweeter than usual. She put it down again, not at all in the mood for sweet.


	14. Chapter 14

Deanna folded her hands on her desk and gazed at the picture on the wall. The frame switched to a picture from Betazed, one of her in a purple gown standing with her mother in a similar one, after the Festival of Alipha re-enactment. She sighed heavily, thinking of the man her mother had brought home. Her friend, Tom Glendenning. Of all the people that Section 31 had impacted over the years, certainly, especially during conflicts like the Cardassian War or the Dominion War.

The quiet double tone drew her attention; she turned to the monitor. "Troi here."

"Commander Dibolla, from Starfleet Command, is asking for you."

"Put her through. Thank you, deLio."

The monitor flickered to life, and the face of Admiral Nechayev's adjutant appeared there. Dibolla was Benzite; her breathing apparatus just below her mouth emitted a brief wisp of gasses, which disappeared into her nose slits. "Good afternoon, Commander. I have the admiral on a secure channel for you."

"Thank you, Commander."

Another moment as the connection was made, and then she leaned closer to allow the retinal scan. The monitor came back to life with the image of Nechayev. "Commander Troi," she said with a hint of a smile. "I received your message."

The one she'd sent inquiring as to whether Nechayev's standing order, to update her in the event Deanna discovered Section interference, was still valid now that Nechayev was no longer her fleet admiral. Evidently it was still a standing order. She would likely have gotten a simple text response instead of a call, if it were not.

"I know you are aware of what we're doing. Do you feel this is a secure line?"

It was, but the additional question served its purpose, to inquire whether it was also secure from Section 31. Nechayev tilted her head. "You have a concern about one of your passengers?" A vague response to tell her that the admiral wasn't certain that they weren't being monitored. That wasn't reassuring, but also not surprising.

"I do. He seems to have less expertise than one would expect him to, and he has an additional characteristic that concerns me." That would confirm the existence of the implant. Indicating gender would let her know that it wasn't Tessora. "I wanted to ask if you had feedback, or suggestions."

"I don't doubt that the captain will proceed as he intends to, regardless. Thank you for the update. I'll look into it. You can expect a coded message if there are new orders." Nechayev smiled. "I understand you're pregnant. Congratulations. Your mother was quite enthusiastic about it, as anyone would be."

"Thank you, Admiral." That her mother was on the Federation Council seemed to have the additional side effect of exposing her personal life to a new level. It was embarrassing, but at the same time, she knew Mother meant well.

"How is the mission progressing?"

"Our team is preparing. We are approximately six hours from the Neutral Zone at our current speed. Engineering and Sciences are working with Dr. Dara and Reylar, and we are finalizing a plan to extract Federation assets."

Nechayev gave a single subdued nod, to that. "I hope that you are able to complete your mission without conflict. Keep me apprised of any further concerns."

"Yes, Admiral. Thank you."

The connection was terminated, the monitor flicked back to the UFP insignia, and went off as she turned and stood up. She left her small office and made her way to her quarters, where Jean-Luc sat on the couch already holding a book. He snapped it shut as she sat down with him.

"I wonder if you might be free for dinner," he said with a smirk.

Her own smile in response was subdued, which quickly dampened his and brought concern to his eyes. She sighed. "I just spoke to Nechayev. I told her about Caldwell. And Mother told her about the baby, so it was... interesting. And yes, let's have dinner."

As they sat down with their replicated meals, Deanna asked, "How did it go today?" They had been on different paths after the staff meeting concluded -- she had tracked the scientists all afternoon while he'd remained on the bridge and handled whatever the admirals felt they needed.

"Tessora received a message from one of our assets within the Empire," he replied as he picked up his fork. He paused to take a bite of his fragrant meal -- it smelled like curry. "We're to pick up Ambassador Spock. The leaders of his underground movement are putting him on a vessel, and on his way to us."

"Wouldn't that put him more at risk? To be in space surrounded by the Imperial Fleet?" Deanna exclaimed. There were, at any given time, one or two squadrons of warbirds on patrol in and around the system.

"Not if he's on one of the warbirds and no one knows he is there."

"But... Are you saying that the movement is that successful? That they have entire crew compliments on their side?"

"It would seem so. M'Ret's attempt on the Vulcan side of reunification efforts failed, years ago, but it seems that the populace has suffered at the hands of the Empire long enough that Spock's efforts have been more fruitful."

"What else was in this message?" She hoped for a better possibility of avoiding violence. She kept remembering being on Toreth's warbird, how tense the crew was, how there were no friendly conversations -- at meals it was obvious that everyone on board was on guard against everyone else. How the Empire could move from that entrenched attitude of suspicion of everyone, everywhere, to a freer society, she couldn't see. It was difficult enough to move a human client from mistrust to trust, in a society full of people who understood trust. Even now, she knew, Toreth was battling her own instincts, trying to trust them. And the other expatriated Romulans may act and feel as though they trusted them, but she knew they had each had their own moments of unease.

"Evidently, the underground counts among its numbers the Proconsul, Dersis. And tomorrow he will transmit a statement to the entire Romulan population, informing them all of the status of their star, his affiliation with the reunification movement, his intent to tell the Praetor to stand down, and the military to choose a side."

Deanna put down her fork, her appetite gone. "That could start a _civil war_. We could be in the middle of it!" 

"It's definitely changed our plans. We're not going to approach the planet under any circumstance. Tessora has tried to pass a message back -- it got to her in an indirect way, as you can imagine. She attempted to communicate with the other Federation assets weeks ago, but received no response. She wants them to find a way to meet us on the other side of the Romulan system, with Spock, on the same ship."

"And if she doesn't get what she wants?"

Jean-Luc gathered lettuce on his fork, scowling. "It depends -- if we have no communication from the asset letting us know when and where to find them, or if they are alive, how do we collect them?"

"Has the admiral finally told you how many there actually are?" The admiral had yet to identify any of these assets other than Spock, whom they already knew about. 

"I would be surprised if she did." He glanced at her, as she watched him poke at his salad. "You're not hungry?"

"Not really." Deanna looked mournfully at the plate in front of her. "I'll get some soup in a minute."

He dropped his fork too, sat back, and tossed his napkin on the table. "I knew this was going to be one of those missions. It was supposed to be a good will effort, to save the Romulan people, and along came Starfleet Intelligence."

"We knew there were agents in the Empire, just as they have agents in the Federation," she said softly. 

He thought for a moment -- gazing at her, his expression contemplative. She could sense his mind at work.

"I also wonder if they have prisoners, from the Federation," Deanna added, folding her hands in her lap and giving up on even the pretense of wanting dinner.

"The history of the animosity between the Romulans and the Federation is old -- and the Vulcans have been very, very quiet about ties between Romulus and Vulcan. There's so much we don't know about the Romulans. M'Ret's translations of those books he loaned me were helpful but I wouldn't call that small exposure to their literature enough to give me real insight. I remember reading Kirk's logs about his encounters with them, and those of other starship captains -- there was, and continues to be, a great deal of prejudice against Romulans. Tessora and others in the admiralty included."

Deanna nodded, remembering Admiral Satie's behavior, when she had come aboard. She'd cast a broad net, looking for Romulan spies, and accused one of their crew, a young man named Simon, based entirely on his mixed parentage. Tessora herself had commented a few times in the past few days in such a way that her own mistrust of M'Ret and Narviat was obvious.

"Remember when we came back to the ship and thought the Romulans were attacking?"

"Yes. What a relief it was to find that it was Will responding to a distress call and the temporal disturbances resulting from their engine malfunctioning. I hoped that their response this time would be similar -- that the crews of vessels we encounter would know about their sun, and at least withhold judgment long enough for us to complete the survey and provide the information they need to address the problem. Even to help with it."

"We could end centuries of standoffs," Jean-Luc said, not for the first time. "We could save millions of lives. Even if we did broadcast a warning to the populace ourselves, as was initially considered, we couldn't incite the kind of reaction there will be if the Proconsul speaks against the Imperial Senate and the Praetor. Why _now?"_

"We'll have to ask Spock. Or Tyreen? She might have insight into why the underground peace movement would choose this time to push the Senate into checkmate."

"I suppose it's worth asking." He crossed his arms, still thinking this through.

"Perhaps there is something urgent in the timing of the Proconsul's announcement," Deanna said. "I wonder what Sela has been doing, since the failure of her attempt to infiltrate Vulcan with those stolen Vulcan vessels?"

"Whatever she's been doing, Dersis may force her into action with his announcement. We may very well see her before this is over. A reunion that I'm not looking forward to. What kind of soup would you like?" He left his chair and went to the replicator. "Earl Grey, hot."

"Aldanian spice pudding," she said, changing her mind. Soup didn't sound good. Neither did the pudding, to be honest, but at least it was something she could eat despite not being hungry.


	15. Chapter 15

"All stop," Greenman confirmed, looking up from her last adjustments at the helm. The Neutral Zone spread out before them, the invisible barrier between the Federation and the Romulan Star Empire, instituted by agreement more than a century ago. The _Enterprise_ had patrolled it numerous times, but this seemed so much more tense....

"Scans show nothing," Carlisle said, glancing over his shoulder at the captain.

Jean-Luc sat like a statue in his chair, staring at the stars on the viewscreen. At his side, Deanna waited, hands clasped in her lap. In the chair at his left, where she used to sit, Tessora was stiffly upright, her arms on the armrests and her head tipped slightly back. Bracing herself against what was to come?

"Plot a course for Romulus, Ensign. Warp six." It would get them there within two hours. This spot on the Zone had been chosen specifically because it was closest to the Romulan system. Jean-Luc knew Greenman would follow the plan, take them to the side of the solar system farthest from Romulus, and keep the star between them and the planet in hopes of escaping notice for as long as possible. He knew that the scientists were doing those last-minute preparations for deploying the stratopod -- they'd dropped out of warp to test the remote controls and the communications interface between the pod's sensor arrays and the _Enterprise_ , and Reylar was satisfied that the connection would be solid.

Natalia's fingers moved, and the ship jumped to warp. "Aye, sir."

"Yellow alert," Deanna said, and the indicator lamps winked five times and went off. She looked at him, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, and he felt his jaw tighten, then intentionally took a breath and relaxed it.

For the first twenty-two minutes they were silent and waiting for the inevitable. Then, the inevitable happened.

"Incoming transmission, sir," deLio announced, in his high-pitched reedy voice. "From the _Mortiak_. Commander Soral."

The name was familiar, from the list of Romulan commanders Toreth had given them. "All right, let's see what this will be. Open a channel."

"Channel open, sir."

A glance at Deanna, who did not appear at all alarmed. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the starship _Enterprise._ "

"You have crossed the Neutral Zone. You will return to Federation space or be destroyed."

"Do you know your star is dying?"

There was a long pause, and Jean-Luc looked at Deanna. She was stiffly upright, her eyes serious, but she didn't display any concern, which meant she sensed nothing out of the ordinary. The response finally came a small eternity later.

"Yes."

"A request, if you would. I would like to save the lives of the Romulan people. I have brought with me a pair of heliophysicists, who will complete an extensive survey of your star, and attempt the formulation of a solution -- if we are able to do so without aggression we would share the information freely with you. We would participate in the implementation of the solution, if allowed, with no expectation of remuneration or any change to any existing treaty."

Another silence. Probably, they were consulting with each other, or perhaps their superiors.

"You are expecting me to believe that you would do this, and leave, without taking the opportunity to spy on us or attack our homeworld."

"If I wanted the untimely end of the Romulan people, all I have to do is leave, and wait a few years," Jean-Luc said, infusing the statement with just a hint of humor.

A sharp intake of breath was audible over the open channel. "We have no official bulletin on this proceeding," he announced with more belligerence than before. The reaction of a soldier being forced to do something other than follow instructions.

"We did not approach the Senate through diplomatic channels, that's true. Because we are not here for the Senate, the Praetor or to the advantage of the Federation. I am here to help the Romulan people. If you will allow it."

"This is not -- "

Another pause. Jean-Luc glanced at the admiral, who was watching him with the hint of a smile, and then turned to look up at tactical where Toreth and Narviat stood on either side of deLio. Toreth nodded -- she wasn't smiling, but she wasn't frowning either.

"This is not usual," Soral exclaimed at last. Clearly they'd caught him between concern for his people, likely for his family specifically, and his orders. Right where they wanted him.

"I would like you to escort us and watch us, if that's what you need to do to assure yourselves that we are telling the truth. The instant we do anything other than scan and survey your star, you may destroy us. I am a man of my word, as I assume you to be, Commander." He saw out of the corner of his eye Tessora's head turn -- that would make retrieving Spock difficult. But he thought it wouldn't be a problem.

This time, the pause was shorter. "Do not make any course changes without justification, Captain." The channel closed with a chirp.

"Well done," Narviat exclaimed, leaning forward to rest his hands on the edge of the tactical console. "That should keep us out of the awareness of the Senate and the rest of the military, for now."

"Soral will not be forgiving of any deviations," Toreth said, coming down the right side of the bridge to stand near Deanna's seat.

"Will he be amenable to our inviting guests aboard the _Enterprise_? Perhaps to have observers to meet the scientists and verify that the equipment is designed to do as we claim?" Deanna asked. She uncrossed her legs and stood up.

Toreth smirked. "I think that will depend upon whether he trusts the observers. We shall see. Although I doubt you could convince anyone that Spock is an observer."

"Perhaps we won't have to," Deanna said with a smile. "We'll see."

Toreth cocked her head, a little bemused, and glanced at Jean-Luc. "And I thought such optimism was a Human trait."

"It's a Starfleet tradition," Jean-Luc said with a genuine smile. "We've managed to get through worse situations."

"We shall see," Toreth said, nodding, indulging them.

"Indeed," Tessora said. "May I use your ready room, Captain?"

"Of course," Jean-Luc exclaimed, waving a hand toward the door. They watched the admiral go inside.

"Another encrypted check in, no doubt," Toreth said.

"Estimated time of arrival, Ensign," Jean-Luc said. Though he knew the answer.

"At present speed, one hour forty-two minutes, sir."

He looked up at Toreth again. "Would you like to take a seat?"


	16. Chapter 16

"Your captain is adept in these situations," Tessora commented, as Deanna placed cup and saucer in front of her. 

They had adjourned to the observation lounge off the main bridge, when Tessora expressed a desire for tea. Deanna had been snacking instead of eating full meals due to lack of appetite and occasional nausea, and felt she needed the break from the tension on the bridge -- though it wasn't much of a break. She could sense the shipwide tensions spiking, as everyone aboard faced the situation together. Being in the Romulan Empire and paced by a Romulan warbird on the way to the heart of their territory was just the beginning.

"He's had a lot of practice," Deanna replied as she returned to the replicator to pick up her snack, a bowl of fruit, and bring it back to sit at the table with Tessora. "And after the Dominion War, while spending more time working with rather than against the Romulans, we know more about the way they think. We aren't relying entirely on Narviat and the others for that."

Tessora watched her half-heartedly eat a berry. "The tension must be difficult to tolerate, for an empath."

Deanna speared another berry with her fork and ate it. "Over time, I've learned to let a lot of what I sense become like background noise. It becomes more difficult in situations like this, it's true. And I can sense the stress from the Romulans on the other ship as well."

"Are you able to tell the difference between species, from what you sense?"

It was a question that people sometimes asked, but she thought from the admiral's mood that it wasn't idle curiosity this time. "It depends. There are species I can't sense -- Dopterans, Ferengi. There are some that feel Human to me, others that are distinctly not. With Vulcans I can tell because I learned what a disciplined, orderly and shielded mind is like to me. They're strong-minded, but not chaotic as others can be."

"So on the basis of knowing how a particular species _feels_ to you, you're able to discriminate between one and the other. Interesting."

Deanna kept eating, but the bites of melon were easy to swallow quickly so she could talk. "Have you heard from the assets, yet?"

"No. I have not. And I am forced to concede that they may be captured, or dead."

"There is a facility near the Imperial Palace, in which alien prisoners are kept for interrogation. I suspect that if the underground movement reaches as far as the guards in that facility, they may be able to release them; if the assets aren't answering because they were captured, they may still be alive. It may be the Spock can identify individuals who could help disseminate information to your assets, and we can somehow pick up anyone who wants to leave." It was incredibly optimistic of her, she knew, but she'd been a part of a lot of missions that had succeeded out of determination and sometimes sheer luck. Anything could happen, and sometimes, what happened was incredible.

Tessora watched her eat more melon. "I'm not accustomed to such optimism."

"We try to remain open to all possibilities."

Tessora's mood had typically been low. It was easy to guess that she had a stressful job that required her to remain isolated, and that always took a toll on a Human. She could put on a good face, when on duty, but Deanna thought she must be struggling, judging from what she sensed. This mission could go very wrong, and Deanna had an impulse to thank her for her participation; it would have been easy for Tessora to stay at Starfleet Command and distance herself from any disastrous consequences of this endeavor.

"What do you know about the prison you mention?"

Deanna stopped eating, let the fork fall into the bowl, and sat back -- looking the admiral in the eye. "Very little beyond its existence. It was mentioned to me when I was preparing for our mission on Romulus. Narviat has mentioned it a few times."

"We need a more direct method of communicating with allies within the Empire," the admiral exclaimed. This was not news; she'd brought it up in the briefing with Narviat and M'Ret. "But I see no way of doing so."

Deanna wondered why the urgency. Most Starfleet Intelligence operatives were well aware of the risks and many had contingency plans, if something went awry. "You seem extremely worried about them."

Tessora blinked. It shook her; she glanced around, as she composed herself. She almost spoke, but closed her mouth again and looked downward instead. Someone she cared about was somewhere in the Empire, Deanna thought. It wasn't just a professional concern. Not a matter of Federation security.

"If we can manage to find an opportunity, we'll do what we can to find them. A matter of Federation security, and it's just the right thing to do - we don't leave officers behind."

Tessora's eyes came up -- she kept her surprise mostly under wraps, but it was obvious enough to an empath. "Thank you, Commander. We should get back to the bridge."

When they emerged from the briefing room, Jean-Luc was standing in the middle of the bridge, arms crossed, staring at the main viewer as if there were something there other than stars. Deanna went to stand next to him, putting her hands behind her back.

"Five minutes," Natalia announced from the helm.

Deanna glanced over her shoulder at deLio. Toreth still stood to the L'norim's right, her stiff stance giving away her anxiety. Narviat had moved down into the counselor's chair and sat thinking about something intently, judging from his emotions. Tessora stayed back, hovering near the door to the briefing room.

When the ship dropped out of warp, 128 Trianguli was visible in the center of the main viewer; it was a brilliant white star. Jean-Luc went into action at once, dropping his arms. "Hail the _Mortiak_. Mr. Carlisle, begin sensor sweeps, and signal Reylar that we'll launch his stratopod in a few moments."

"Channel open, sir," deLio replied in seconds.

"Commander Soral, this is Captain Picard. I am informing you of our intent to launch a probe specifically designed to enter the star's corona, to take in-depth sensor readings -- do you have an objection to this?"

Deanna could sense the surprise, and glanced at Tessora, then at Jean-Luc. _Should we make multiple sweeps, to stall for time if necessary until we hear from Spock?_

He nodded without looking at her, as Soral began to answer. "Captain. That would be acceptable. We would like to receive the sensor data as well."

"We'll transmit it to you as we receive it. Our heliophysicists will also be able to make recommendations, as well, once we've concluded sensor sweeps and collated and analyzed the data."

"Sir," Carlisle said quietly, glancing at them. "Another vessel approaching. Uncloaked."

Jean-Luc sighed. "Identify."

deLio spoke from behind them. "A D'deridex class, approaching at impulse, sir. They are not raising shields."

Soral spoke, unexpectedly. "The _Kotath_ is here because they have been assigned routine patrol in our system. I will not speak to them on your behalf."

"Nor would I expect you to, Commander. We'll contact you before we launch our probe. Picard out." Jean-Luc turned and gestured at deLio, who closed the channel and nodded. "Open a channel to the _Kotath_ and let's see if we're facing a friend, foe, or another suspicious but curious onlooker."

Toreth guffawed at that and crossed her arms, shooting a look at Narviat, still seated in the counselor's chair. "Timal might just open fire on us."

"Things change," Narviat said with a shrug. "We did."

After Jean-Luc identified himself, the response was immediate. "Captain, this is Subcommander Timal, of the _Kotath_. Prepare to be boarded."

Deanna grabbed his wrist before he could reply, and gave him a firm look. _She is not being antagonistic nor is she surprised. She is hoping, quite desperately, that we comply.  
_

"Of course," Jean-Luc said amiably, as if it happened every day. He held up a hand, as Tessora took two hurried steps his way, and the admiral stopped. "Commander, meet them in transporter room one."

Deanna headed for the aft turbolift, leaving him to deal with the questions; the admiral was already asking why he hadn't set them to red alert or raised shields. deLio left tactical to shadow her. Toreth followed him, and gave Deanna a curious look and raised eyebrow as the lift door closed behind them.

"I can tell she's not threatening us," Deanna said. "Is Timal an old friend?" From Toreth's earlier briefing, she understood Timal to be someone Toreth knew.

"We went to military school together," Toreth said with a slight smile. "I knew her."

"So you were rivals," Deanna said, grinning.

Toreth chuckled and faced forward.

When Deanna got to the transporter room, deVin was waiting expectantly for them. She nodded and faced the pad. deLio stood at attention nearby, and Toreth slightly behind her. Two people beamed in, and when the transport was complete, the taller of the two stumbled -- deLio moved forward at once, allowing the man to brace himself on his shoulder. Deanna recognized Spock at once from the pictures in his file, which she had reviewed in advance of the mission.

"I believe I will require a doctor," he said, sounding hoarse. He looked, and felt, exhausted. She'd expected him to be more composed, to have the usual mental shields of a Vulcan. He wasn't doing well.

"Troi to sickbay -- medical team to transporter room one," Deanna said at once. She glanced at the uniformed Romulan standing by, watching deLio lower Spock to sit on the edge of the pad. "Welcome aboard, Subcommander. Thank you."

Timal was taller than Toreth. Her jawline and forehead were more pronounced, and her demeanor stern. She stared at Deanna, but instead of reacting to the external, Deanna smiled in response to the uncertainty and relief the woman felt.

"Would you like to speak to the captain? Ambassador Spock will be taken to sickbay." As she finished speaking the door opened and Mengis arrived, flanked by his team. Deanna sidled out of the way and Toreth followed suit, the movement bringing Timal's attention to her.

"Toreth," she exclaimed, surprised.

"I see you know Spock," Toreth replied. From all appearances she was calm and not at all perturbed by Timal's presence, though Deanna knew she was struggling with conflicted emotions that suggested the two of them had been something other than rivals.

Mengis distracted Deanna from the reunion of the two Romulans by sidling to stand with her, as his team took Spock from the room on the antigrav litter. "Judging from my initial examination, the ambassador will need at least a day in sickbay. Any debriefing with him will need to be postponed for at least an hour, as we'll be conducting a thorough exam and stabilizing him."

"Contact me when we're able to speak to him, Doctor." Deanna watched him go and then turned back to Toreth and Timal. "Will you be staying to meet the captain, or returning to your vessel?"

Timal was immediately on her guard. It occurred to Deanna that she must have expected to be taken into custody. Toreth apparently thought the same. "We're not prisoners, that's not the Starfleet way, unless you've done something hostile," she explained with a hint of amusement in her voice. She spoke Romulan, and Deanna thought it was a different dialect than the one Narviat and Tarel spoke.

"And you've brought Spock back to the _Enterprise_ , for which we are most grateful," Deanna said in Standard. "We are here to assess and provide assistance with your star, to save your people. Would you like to see how?"

That was enough to crack the facade. Her jaw dropped, just for a few seconds. Her dark eyes went to Toreth's face.

"Come on, Timal, surely you can't be so easily shaken by a Betazoid who can speak our language?" Toreth nodded toward Deanna. "She's not your enemy."

That was said with confidence, and Deanna rewarded it with a warm smile. She'd been genuinely fond of Toreth for a while, but the reassurance that her efforts to build trust were seeing some success made her happy. "This way," she said, indicating the door.

There was no small talk in the turbolift, and Timal followed Deanna onto the bridge as if walking into a den of wild animals -- her eyes sweeping around perhaps in search of booby traps or security to put her away. Narviat rose to his feet as the three of them came down to where the captain and the admiral still stood in the center of the bridge. "Subcommander Timal," Deanna said, nodding at their guest, "this is Captain Picard and Admiral Tessora." She gestured at each of them in turn.

Timal's eyes swept across their faces and landed on Narviat's, as he studied her in return. "I know you," Timal exclaimed.

"Narviat t'Aimne," Deanna said, adding the subtle inflections of his native dialect. She didn't sense anything that caused her alarm, but tensed at the unexpected exchange.

"Subcommander," Narviat said coolly. "Thank you, for bringing Spock to us."

"It was necessary. He needed immediate medical care that was inaccessible to him on Romulus. We owe him a great debt," Timal exclaimed. She looked at Toreth, unexpectedly -- there was definitely history there, Deanna decided.

"What do you intend to do next?" Deanna asked, before she realized it might be speaking out of turn. The admiral gave her a sharp look.

"Do?" Timal replied, as if it hadn't occurred to her to think beyond Spock's welfare.

Deanna turned to her captain, and he took a deep breath, smiling a little in resignation to the course she'd set him on. Not that he wouldn't have taken it anyway. They really had no reason to be covert about what they were doing. "You're here aboard a Federation vessel. You might not be aware that we have a cloaked shadow -- the _Mortiak_ has been with us since the Neutral Zone."

Timal scowled, glancing at each of them in turn, likely scanning for signs that it was a deception. "Soral is no issue. The Free Republic has an agent aboard that vessel, I would know if he reported your presence."

"The Free Republic?" the admiral exclaimed, surprised.

So Starfleet had intelligence officers in the Empire, and the head of Starfleet Intelligence could still be surprised. Yes, Romulans were indeed masters of secrecy and deception. Deanna glanced at Narviat and caught his eye; he too was surprised. But he said nothing.

Toreth, still standing close to Timal, made an incredulous noise. "Is this part of the reunification movement?"

Timal's smile wasn't expected. "It's a result -- the more of us became part of the movement, the more people started to talk. And it was clear many more of us wanted a change than expected. Proconsul Dersis will clean out the Palace," she announced, raising her head, proud and confident.

"Do you know about your star?" Jean-Luc asked, tentative.

Now she stared at him as if he might be dim. Toreth chuckled. "He's trying to tell you why they're here," she said. "He wants you to know he has no intent to start a war."

"That would be helpful. We do not need another war. We have the remainder of an Empire to dismantle, so you may do as you wish as long as you don't get in the way. If you do reverse the destruction of our sun, you will have the gratitude of the Romulan Free Republic."

"I know we've been gone for months, but this seems sudden to me," Narviat said. "I was part of the reunification movement. But I had no idea there was any such revolution taking place."

"You were Tal Shiar," Toreth said. "It makes perfect sense to me. Who would trust Tal Shiar even if you are a former agent and supposedly a member of the reunification movement?"

As harsh as that sounded, Narviat took it without anything more than simple disappointment. He was well aware of his sister-in-law's hatred of the Tal Shiar. Deanna felt sympathy for the man; he seemed to notice, and met her eyes with a slight smile.

"I invite you to sit with us, Subcommander, and discuss this further," Tessora said, gesturing toward the observation lounge.

"I cannot stay -- I should return to patrol. We are continuing to maintain appearances while the final arrangements are made. When the Praetor and the Senate are overturned, there will be an announcement on all channels." Timal nodded to Deanna. "Please show me to your transporter room."

"Of course." She glanced at Jean-Luc and received a nod. The admiral crossed her arms but said nothing, though she radiated frustration. Deanna gestured toward the aft turbolift and walked with Timal into it. She half-expected Toreth to follow, but she did not.

"Transporter room one," Deanna said into the air, setting the turbolift car into motion. "It's too bad you cannot stay longer."

"You expect me to believe you want me to," Timal exclaimed.

"I consider Toreth and her sister to be my friends. Also Narviat, and M'Ret. I'd hoped that the joint effort during the Dominion War would prove out -- that we could establish a better relationship with your people."

Timal spent a moment staring at her, and if she couldn't tell what was going on behind that stony expression Deanna might have misconstrued it to be anger. Timal was, in fact, confused. "Why would you hope that?"

"Because I would like the hostilities to stop. There have been long periods of silence between the Empire and the Federation, but it was a standoff -- true peace would mean people like Toreth could move freely in the Federation and visit Vulcan without suspicion. Walk among the markets and buy _pok tarr_ to take home with you. You could visit Toreth, at her home on Betazed."

"Home," Timal echoed.

"Not in the sense that Romulus is home, certainly. But she has a house there. I helped her get it."

The subcommander stared at her as the lift went horizontal, likely moving to its final destination. "We've been warned not to trust Starfleet officers when they say such things."

"Perhaps you should ask Toreth then, how horribly she's been treated." Deanna stepped forward as the car stopped and the door opened.

Timal didn't say anything more. Once she'd been beamed away to her ship, Deanna exchanged a nod with deVin and left.

It was a given that she should return to the bridge. But she asked for sickbay, and the turbolift took her there. When she came in, it wasn't surprising to see Spock on a biobed surrounded by medical personnel. She waited several meters distant from them until Mengis noticed her and broke away to approach. "Commander," he acknowledged softly. "Is something wrong?"

"Is he conscious?"

"He is, but he is also not stable. We have many things to address before he will be able to leave sickbay."

"Doctor," came a whisper from the biobed. "I would like to speak to Captain Picard."

Mengis' shaggy black eyebrow rose, and he turned to the bed. Deanna went with him automatically. Spock gazed up at them, barely able to open his eyes, and his hand moved -- fingers twitching, his arm rising from the bed slightly.

"Captain Picard is on the bridge with an admiral, starting the survey of the star. We're trying to find a way to stop its eventual destruction. I'm sure he will come to speak to you when he's able, and after you're feeling better."

That upset him, surprising her. He tried to move again, this time gesturing for her to come closer. As she did, he opened his eyes and tried to clear his throat. "It is imperative that I...." He paused to inhale. "He needs to know."

"Can you tell me?"

"You should go," Mengis said. "We need to take him into surgery."

"No," Spock blurted. His hand brushed Deanna's and she took it automatically. "Too much to tell. You must...."

"Please give us just a moment," Deanna said, glancing around at the collected doctors and nurses. As they moved away, she leaned in closer. "Is there something important related to the mission?"

"You do not know who to trust," he whispered.

"And you suspect that will be important. But I don't want to cause you -- "

"There is a way, no talking."

"You mean a mind meld."

"You are...."

She shook her head sadly. "I'm not a telepath. I'm sorry."

"I can...."

She could tell what he was doing. His effort to reach her mind was perceptible to her. She gripped his warm, dry fingers and focused on that tickle, lending it her attention until it was a real two-way connection. His first reaction was amusement, his second was to bring her awareness to the information he wanted her to have.

Telepathy was so different, from one species to the next. This was the first time she'd had mind-to-mind contact with a Vulcan; it did not surprise her to find that his thoughts were so orderly and compartmentalized. In the brief contact she learned much more than she had expected to, and understood why he'd wanted to pass it along.

"You're not going to die," she said as he let the connection go. His hand slipped from hers, to lie next to him again.

"I have perhaps outlived my usefulness," he whispered. "But I will accede to the possibility."

"I'll come back when you are able to talk. Thank you for the information."

"May it be used in the service of a lasting peace," he said with a sigh, closing his eyes.

Deanna turned to their audience of medical personnel. "Please," she said, stepping away from the biobed.

Without hesitation the medical staff surrounded him again. Deanna headed for the bridge, now allowing herself to be worried.


	17. Chapter 17

"They said it will take three days for a complete analysis with the stratopod," Caldwell said as he sat down next to Tessora. "A pass through the corona, another through the photosphere, and if all goes well, some hours into the convection layer -- though it's likely we won't be able to have live feeds, the pod will have to record and then survive to return with the data."

They were gathered in the observation lounge again. Jean-Luc kept glancing at Deanna out of the corner of his eye, concerned that she was being so subdued. Since returning to the bridge, she'd not said much about anything and seemed caught up in her thoughts. The minor conflict with the admiral over his allowing Timal to exit without further invitations to remain, thus losing an opportunity to either gain useful information or begin some initial diplomatic possibility with the "Romulan Free Republic", had come and gone in Deanna's absence. The stratopod had launched, the scientists were in astrometrics engaged fully in the accumulation of information about the star, and the _Mortiak_ was still cloaked and lurking, so far as he knew; Soral had not enlightened them on his plans, only acknowledged that he would be there watching and waiting.

So now they were in hour two of the mission, and left with nothing to do but eat and talk, they were doing just that. Caldwell must have annoyed the science department, as he arrived with no stated purpose, not even to update them. Tessora had watched him come in with a guarded expression but said nothing.

Jean-Luc contemplated contacting sickbay to see whether Spock was able to have visitors. But he cut another bite of hasperat from the replicated meal, and set aside the impulse.

Caldwell glanced around at Tessora, at Deanna, and shrugged a little. "Has anything happened on the bridge?"

At that, Tessora put down her spoon and turned to him from her bowl of pungent curry. "A Romulan patrol came through. I'm surprised you aren't eating in astrometrics."

"It seemed well under control. I thought I would check in here." Caldwell picked up his sandwich and stuffed it in his mouth. 

Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna, to find her much too caught up in examining her cup of tea. He continued to look at her, until she noticed and returned his gaze. She managed a weak smile, but he wasn't convinced.

_I'm fine, Jean. Just thinking about Spock._

"We haven't heard from sickbay," he commented. "Perhaps I'll go check on our guest."

"I'll come with you," Deanna said immediately.

"Excuse us, admirals, if you would -- we'll return shortly." Jean-Luc gave Tessora a tight smile and rose from his seat.

But in the turbolift, after the door closed and the car went into motion, Deanna called for it to halt. She turned to him, arms crossed. "We don't need to go to sickbay."

"We don't?" 

"I stopped in after taking Timal to the transporter. Spock was asking to speak to you, but he was obviously not well and the doctor insisted that he needed a procedure immediately. He gave me the information he wanted us to have telepathically, in the best interests of time."

"Oh," he replied. "Why didn't you...." He realized what the answer must be, before he finished the question.

"It isn't Tessora herself," Deanna said, hugging herself. "She has a son. He's in the Empire somewhere. Spock has reason to think he's being used to blackmail her."

"To give the Romulans information?" Jean-Luc felt the weight of possibility sink into his gut. "Or to give them _us?"_ There was still the unsolved mystery, of why Jean-Luc was being targeted specifically by various Romulan agents. Zanzibar and Adnalon had proven there was some grudge, and that Sela was involved. Section 31 had something going on as well, in the Empire. It wasn't clear how many moving pieces there were, but they hoped to find out more.

"Caldwell may be here to work against that possibility. Or he may be here to facilitate it. I don't have enough of a sense of him to know which is more likely. And there's no proof of anything, yet, the mission may proceed as planned and there may be some other task the Section expects of Tessora, there's not enough information to even guess." Deanna's eyes were wide, and he could tell she was worried. "He gave me other information that will be helpful. Names of Romulans who are part of the underground, including Timal."

"If we're staying here, not going close to Romulus, that would seem to have limited utility."

"If Timal returns on her patrol, I could ask her to take me to Romulus with a team to rescue Federation citizens," she said quietly, gazing intently into his eyes. "Dersis will make his announcement -- he may have done it already. Revolution might be enough of a distraction to afford us a window of opportunity to retrieve them."

They stood in the lift together frozen in contemplation. Jean-Luc had to move past the initial shock and fear into consideration, a shift that he found harder than usual to make, and had to agree that it might be a risk to take; one he might have taken himself, in her shoes. The resistance to sending his pregnant wife out to do that was difficult to set aside, but he knew that it couldn't become part of the reason he denied the possibility.

She was, in fact, the one officer aboard who had a chance of pulling it off.

"Did he tell you how many Federation citizens there are in captivity?"

"More than there should be." She took a step, and his arms came up automatically as she leaned into him. All too soon she backed away again, and faced forward. "Computer, return us to the bridge."

"Tessora," he said, because it would be what he would do.

"Now that you understand what's at stake we can talk to her. I wanted you to know before I asked any questions."

"Thank you."

"Spock is very ill," she said as the door opened and they emerged onto the bridge. She nodded to Carlisle, still at the conn, as they passed through to the observation lounge.

Tessora's expression as they re-entered was one of relief. "Captain. Commander." She'd rid herself of her dishes and sat looking at a hologram of the system, showing the ship's position in blue and the planets and star in yellow.

"Spock is not well," he said, returning to his seat and shoving aside the cup of cold tea. "But the commander was able to make contact with him telepathically."

The tension in the room increased -- for the first time Caldwell abandoned the easygoing air of nonchalance, sitting up straight and staring at them. Tessora nodded officiously toward Deanna. "Was he able to give you any useful information?"

"He did. First, I should tell you that Sam is alive, and as of last month he was continuing to work in his cover as an Imperial soldier near the palace."

That was enough to completely render both admirals speechless. Jean-Luc thought that Caldwell might give away some hint about him -- but he turned to Tessora and asked, "Who is Sam?"

"My son." She pursed her lips and took a moment to consider further. "Anything relevant to the mission? Or to removing our assets?"

So she was opting to keep the focus on the work. Jean-Luc approved. He started to comment, but the computer interrupted. _Dara to Admiral Caldwell. You wanted us to inform you when the stratopod reached aphelion?_

"I'll be there momentarily. Thank you." Caldwell stood up, nodded to them collectively, and hurried out.

"The side of the sun farthest from us," Deanna said. "Why would that be important to him?"

"Perhaps he thinks the stratopod will be able to pick up information about vessels in the system, or the planets? I believe he will be disappointed. All the instrumentation, according to Reylar, is designed to examine the star or keep the pod in one piece." Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna, to find her lost in thought again. Or, perhaps, focused on what she sensed from someone?

"Commander," Tessora exclaimed. It brought Deanna's attention back into the room. "What else did Spock tell you?"

"There are fifteen Federation prisoners alive in their facility. The contacts within the Imperial Palace are poised to release them to the Free Republic, when they seize control of the Palace and take the Senate and the Praetor into custody, because they'll be putting the Senators in the prison. There was some conflict about what to do with the Federation prisoners, but Spock believes that if we offer to take them they will be freely given. While the Free Republic isn't hostile to the Federation, they aren't friendly either. There may be a move toward reunification but the Romulan distrust of other species remains."

"Good. That's promising. What about Sam, and the other active assets?"

Deanna seemed to be lost in thought then, as if she needed to access something not ready at her command. Her eyes flicked up to meet the admiral's again, across the table. "Spock was at the heart of the movement for years. He's revered by all the current leaders of the underground, some of whom are the top ranking members of the Free Republic. He was given information by all the major players in the movement to analyze and issue recommendations, as all of the cells were independent and unaware of the others to keep them all safe in the event one of them was captured. His last act was to pass their identities to an intermediary, to share with all of them as the final stages of the group's efforts were implemented. With the Free Republic on the verge of staging their coup, it will give us an opportunity -- our Federation assets are known to them. They can be contacted and given instructions. We simply need a plan."

Tessora's smile was the first genuinely happy one that Jean-Luc had seen since she'd come aboard. "A plan we can now make, if you have some specific information to choose a suitable rendezvous?"

"We should solicit Subcommander Timal's assistance," Deanna said. "I believe she will help us."

That led to raised eyebrows -- Jean-Luc as well as the admiral. And, he thought, Deanna sounded different. Something in the cadence of her words.

"We can -- " The computer's double tone alert interrupted his thought.

_Captain to the bridge._

Jean-Luc was on his feet before the sentence finished. Deanna was on his heels, and the admiral not far behind. Carlisle had already retaken his place at operations, and was running sensor sweeps. As they took their seats, Jean-Luc barked, "Report."

"The stratopod has disappeared from sensors," deLio announced. "Our link with it has been disrupted."

Jean-Luc sighed heavily. "Well, I knew it couldn't be that simple," he muttered.

"Is there any indication of why?" Deanna asked. She had her display turned and was shifting it to show ship systems status.

"We're not picking it up anywhere on sensors, I've even refined the sweep to specifically pick up dichromium and tritanium, see if we can find it by the elements in the hull, but there's just nothing," Carlisle exclaimed, gesturing with his hands. He turned his chair slightly to look back at them. "Not even any debris. I don't see anything in the logs that suggests it went off course into the sun, either."

The aft turbolift opened, and Reylar came out closely followed by Caldwell. "Captain," Reylar said urgently. "I think our stratopod might have been stolen."

"There was a blip on the sensor data before we lost the data stream," Caldwell said. "I think it was a Romulan vessel."

"Did we get enough information about the star to come to some conclusion about possible remedies?" Tessora asked. It wasn't going to be possible to retrieve the stratopod, regardless; they had all agreed that any confrontation with any Romulan vessel was to be avoided.

"I would have preferred to complete the circuit around the star, and delve deeper into the star's convection zone, but I believe we can draw some conclusions based on what we have so far," Reylar said. "Dara and your science department are already beginning to collate and review the data."

"Good, because I don't believe we're going to get the stratopod back. I'm sorry."

Reylar's sad smile acknowledged that. "Part of the reason we developed the remote operations module -- I understood the risks."

"Sir," deLio interrupted from tactical. "We are being hailed. The _Mortiak_."

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes. "Of course. Put him through, Mr. deLio."

"Captain," Soral's baritone came across subspace. "I believe you have lost your device."

That was surprising, until Jean-Luc remembered they had been streaming the data to the _Mortiak_ as well. "Yes, it appears it was captured by some vessel. But it was a known possible risk -- we sent it unmanned for that reason. We will be proceeding without it."

"Does this loss impair your efforts?"

Jean-Luc turned to find Deanna waiting for him to look at her, and she smiled faintly. Gave him a nod. _He is still hesitant but not as suspicious. I think the longer we are here and benign, doing what we say and being transparent, the less paranoid he is._

"It does. But we'll work with sensor data we have gotten with it, and the ship's sensors. It's not worth risking battle to recover it. Thank you for your concern."

"Sir," deLio put in. "The stratopod has reappeared on sensors."

Carlisle turned back to his board. With a few taps on the console, he changed the main viewer. The stratopod was in front of them now, drifting in space.

"Please proceed with your task." Soral paused, then continued in a less aggressive tone. "Thank you, for your efforts."

"The channel is closed," deLio said. "It appears we have passed a test."

"What do you mean?" Reylar asked, staring at the pod slowly rolling. "How did it get here?"

"deLio means that Soral must have taken the stratopod himself, to test us -- to see if we would retaliate," Deanna said.

"Well, that was unexpected," Caldwell said, putting his hands on his hips. "Have you ever seen Romulans do that before, Captain?"

"I can't say that I have. But this is a unique situation," Jean-Luc said. "Reylar, do you want to retrieve the stratopod before sending it out again?"

"We should refuel it. I'd like to check it over, be sure it isn't damaged."

"Mr. deLio, let's get a tractor beam on it and put it in the main shuttle bay." Jean-Luc turned again to Deanna. "The ready room, Commander."

He led the way in, stopping when he heard the door close behind Deanna. Pivoting on a toe, he stood in the middle of the room and she came to attention in front of him just a few feet away. "Impressions," he said.

"Caldwell seems to be genuinely invested in the scientific part of the mission. I know from Spock that Soral is part of the reunification movement. He's not sure he can trust us, but it may be that he would be more helpful, if he knew Spock is aboard," she said.

Jean-Luc crossed his arms, nodding as he considered that information. "What else did you learn from Spock that could be useful to the current situation?"

She gazed at him for a moment, and he smiled at her -- she had to be tired, but she was holding up well. And she smiled too, relaxing a little at just that minimal show of affection. "There was so much of it! I'm still sorting through. I think it will take a little time. Meditation might help."

"Then while we are re-orienting the stratopod, you should spend some time doing so. Use the ready room."

"Thank you." Her smile blossomed into the more affectionate version his wife usually gave him. "I don't believe we'll have any further issues with the solar survey."

"I hope you are correct."

She turned away to the right, to the sofa in the corner. He headed back out to the bridge without further discussion.


End file.
